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HOME   UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
OF  MODERN  KNOWLEDGE 

No.  86 

Editors: 

HERBERT   FISHER,  M.A,,  F.B.A. 
Prof.   GILBERT   MURRAY,  Litt.D., 

LL.D.,  F.B.A, 
Prof.  J.  ARTHUR    THOMSON,  M.A. 
Prof,  WILLIAM    T.  BREWSTER,  M.A, 


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HISTORY  AND  GEOGRAPHY 

Already  Published 

THE  DAWN  OF  HISTORY  .    .   .   By  T.  L.  Myres 

ROME By  W.  Wakde  Fowlek 

THE    PAPACY    AND     MODERN 

TIMES By  William  Barry 

MEDIEVAL  EUROPE By  H.  W.  C.  Davis 

THE    FRENCH   REVOLUTION    .   By  Hilaire  Bei.loc 

NAPOLEON By  H.  A.  L.  Fisher 

CANADA By  A.  G.  Bradley 

THE   COLONIAL    PERIOD    ...   By  Charles  M.  Andrews 
THE     WARS     BETWEEN     ENG- 
LAND   AND    AMERICA      ...    By  Theodore  C.   Smith 
FROM  JEFFERSON  TO  LINCOLN  By  William  MacDonald 

THE    CIVIL    WAR By  Frederic  L.  Paxson 

RECONSTRUCTION  AND  UNION 

(1865-1912) By  Paul  L.  Ha  WORTH 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND   .  By  A.   F.   Pollard 
HISTORY  OF  OUR  TIME   (i885- 

191 1)         By  G.  P.  GoocH 

POLAR  EXPLORATION  (with  niap8)By  W.  S.  Bruce 
THE  OPENING  UP  OF  AFRICTA  By  Sir  H.  H.  Johnstoh 
THE  CIVILIZATION  OF  CHINA  By  H.  A.  Giles 
PEOPLES   AND   PROBLEMS    OF 

INDIA By  Sir  T.  W.  Holderness 

A    SHORT    HISTORY    OF    WAR 

AND  PEACE ByG.  H.  Perris 

MODERN   GEOGRAPHY     ....   By  Marion  Newbigim 

MASTER  MARINERS By  T.  R.   Spears 

THE  OCEAN By  Sir  John  Murray 

LATIN    AMERICA By  W.  R.  Shepherd 

GERMANY  OF  TO-DAY  ....  By  Chas.  Tower 
THE  GROWTH  OF  EUROPE  .  .  By  G.  A.  J.  Colk 
THE    EXPLORATION    OF    THE  „     . 

^y^PS By  Arnold  Lunn 

Future  Issues 

A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE  By  Herbert  Fisher 

ANCIENT  GREECE By  Gilbert  Murray 

A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  RUSSIA  By    Paul    Milyoukov 

FRANCE  OF  TO-DAY By  M.  Albert  Thomas 

THE  REFORMATION By  Principal  Lindsay 

ANCIENT    EGYPT By  F.  L.  Griffith 

THE    ANCIENT    EAST By  D.  G.  Hogarth 

MODERN  TURKEY By  D.  G.  Hogarth 

THE  BYZANTINE   EMPIRE      .    .   By  N.   H.   Baynes 


THE  EXPLORATION 
OF  THE  ALPS 


BY 
ARNOLD   LUNN,  M.A. 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE   ENGLISHMAN    IN    THE   ALPS 


NEW   YORK 
HENRY   HOLT  AND   COMPANY 

LONDON 
WILLIAMS   AND   NORGATE 


PREFACE 

For  the  early  chapters  of  this  book  I  have 
consulted,  amongst  other  authorities,  the  books 
mentioned  in  the  bibliography  on  pp.  251- 
254.  It  would,  however,  be  ungracious  if  I 
failed  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to 
that  most  readable  of  historians,  Mr.  Gribble, 
and  to  his  books,  The  Early  Mountaineers 
(Fisher  Unwin)  and  The  Story  of  Alpine 
Climbing  (Nelson).  Mr.  Gribble  and  his  pub- 
lisher, Mr.  Unwin,  have  kindly  allowed  me  to 
quote  passages  translated  from  the  works  of 
the  pioneers.  Two  friends,  experts  in  the 
practice  and  history  of  mountaineering,  have 
read  the  proofs  and  helped  me  with  numerous 
suggestions. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I 

THE   MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE 

PAOS 

9 

II 

THE   PIONEERS  .             .             ... 

22 

III 

THE   OPENING   UP   OF  THE   ALPS 

44 

IV 

THE   STORY   OF   MONT  BLANC 

60 

V 

MONTE  ROSA  AND  THE  BUNDNER  OBER 
LAND      .             .             .             •       .      • 

82 

VI 

TIROL  AND   THE   OBERLAND 

92 

VII 

THE   COMING    OF  THE   ENGLISH    . 

111 

VIII 

THE  STORY   OF  THE   MATTERHORN 

147 

IX 

MODERN   MOUNTAINEERING 

185 

X 

THE  ALPS   IN    LITERATURE 

208 

BIBLIOGRAPHY        .        . 

251 

INDEX         

.     254 

vu 


THE  ALPS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MEDIEVAL   ATTITUDE 

Rousseau  is  usually  credited  with  the  dis- 
covery that  mountains  are  not  intrinsically 
hideous.  Long  before  his  day,  isolated  men 
had  loved  the  mountains,  but  these  men  were 
eccentrics.  They  founded  no  school;  and 
Rousseau  was  certainly  the  first  to  popularise 
mountains  and  to  transform  the  cult  of  hill 
worship  into  a  fashionable  creed.  None  the 
less,  we  must  guard  against  the  error  of  sup- 
posing that  mountain  love  was  confined  to 
the  few  men  who  have  left  behind  them 
literary  evidence  of  their  good  taste.  Moun- 
tains have  changed  very  little  since  man 
became  articulate,  and  the  retina  of  the 
human  eye  has  changed  even  less.  The 
beauty  of  outline  that  stirs  us  to-day  was 
implicit  in  the  hills  "  that  shed  their  burial 
sheets  about  the  march  of  Hannibal.'*  It 
9 


10  THE  ALPS 

seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that  a  few  men 
in  every  age  have  derived  a  certain  pleasure, 
if  not  from  Alpine  travel  at  least  from  the 
distant  view  of  the  snows. 

The  literature  of  the  Ancient  World  con- 
tains little  that  bears  upon  our  subject.  The 
literature  of  the  Jews  is  exceptional  in  this 
respect.  This  is  the  more  to  their  credit,  as 
the  mountains  of  Judaea,  south  of  the  beautiful 
Lebanon  range,  are  shapeless  and  uninterest- 
ing. Deuteronomy,  the  Psalms,  Job,  and 
Isaiah  contain  mountain  passages  of  great 
beauty.  The  Old  Testament  is,  however,  far 
richer  in  mountain  praise  than  the  New 
Testanient.  Christ  retired  more  than  once 
to  the  mountains;  but  the  authors  of  the 
four  Gospels  content  themselves  with  re- 
cording the  bare  fact  that  certain  spiritual 
crises  took  place  on  mountain-tops.  There  is 
not  a  single  indication  in  all  the  gospels  that 
Nazareth  is  set  on  a  hill  overlooking  one  of 
the  fairest  mountain  prospects  in  all  Judaea, 
not  a  single  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  Galilee 
girdled  by  the  outlying  hills  of  Hermon. 

The  Greeks  lived  in  a  land  of  mountains 
far  lovelier  than  Palestine's  characterless 
heights.  But  the  Jews  showed  genuine  if 
spasmodic  appreciation  for  their  native 
ranges,  whereas  the  Greeks,  if  their  literature 
does  them  justice,  cared  little  or  nothing  for 


THE  MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE       11 

their  mountains.  The  note  of  fear  and 
dread,  pleasantly  rare  in  Jewish  literature,  is 
never  long  absent  from  Greek  references  to 
the  mountains.  Of  course,  the  Greeks  gave 
Olympus  to  their  gods,  but  as  Mr.  Norman 
Young  remarks  in  a  very  able  essay  on  The 
Mountains  in  Greek  Poetry,  it  was  necessary 
that  the  gods  should  look  down  on  man- 
kind; and,  as  they  could  not  be  strung  up 
in  mid-air,  the  obvious  thing  was  to  put  them 
on  a  mountain-top.  Perhaps  we  may  con- 
cede that  the  Greeks  paid  a  delicate  compli- 
ment to  Parnassus,  the  Home  of  the  Muses; 
and  certainly  they  chose  for  their  temples 
the  high  ground  of  their  cities.  As  one 
wanders  through  the  olives  and  asphodels, 
one  feels  that  the  Greeks  chose  for  their 
dwellings  and  temples  those  rising  grounds 
which  afforded  the  noblest  prospect  of  the 
neighbouring  hills.  Only  the  cynic  would 
contend  that  they  did  this  in  order  to  escape 
the  atmosphere  of  the  marshes. 

The  Romans  were  disgustingly  practical. 
They  regarded  the  Alps  as  an  inconvenient 
barrier  to  conquest  and  commerce.  Virgil 
shows  an  occasional  trace  of  a  deeper  feeling, 
and  Horace  paused  between  draughts  of 
Falernian  wine  to  admire  the  snows  on 
Soracte,  which  lent  contrast  to  the  comfort 
of  a  well-ordered  life. 


12  THE  ALPS 

Mr.  Freshfield  has  shown  that  the  Chinese 
had  a  more  genuine  feeling  for  mountains; 
and  Mr.  Weston  has  explained  the  ancient 
cult  of  high  places  among  the  Japanese, 
perhaps  the  most  consistent  mountain  wor- 
shippers in  the  world.  The  Japanese  pilgrims, 
clad  in  white,  make  the  ascent  to  the  shrines 
which  are  built  on  the  summits  of  their  sacred 
mountains,  and  then  withdraw  to  a  secluded 
spot  for  further  worship.  For  centuries,  they 
have  paid  official  tribute  to  the  inspiration  of 
high  places. 

But  what  of  the  Alps?  Did  the  men  who 
lived  within  sight  of  the  Swiss  mountains 
regard  them  with  indifference  and  contempt  ? 
This  was,  perhaps,  the  general  attitude,  but 
there  is  some  evidence  that  a  love  for  moun- 
tains was  not  quite  so  uncommon  in  the 
Middle  Ages  as  is  usually  supposed. 

Before  attempting  to  summarise  this  evi- 
dence, let  us  try  to  realise  the  Alps  as  they 
presented  themselves  to  the  first  explorers. 
The  difficulties  of  Alpine  exploration,  as  that 
term  is  now  understood,  would  have  proved 
quite  as  formidable  as  those  which  now  con- 
front the  Himalayan  explorer.  In  spite  of 
this,  glacier  passes  were  crossed  in  the  earliest 
times,  and  even  the  Romans  seemed  to  have 
ventured  across  the  Th^odule,  judging  by 
the  coins  which  have  been  found  on  the  top 


THE  MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE       13 

of  that  great  glacier  highway.  In  addition 
to  the  physical  difficulties  of  Alpine  travel, 
we  must  recognise  the  mental  handicap  of 
our  ancestors.  Danger  no  longer  haunts  the 
highways  and  road-passes  of  the  Alps.  Wild 
beasts  and  robber  bands  no  longer  threaten 
the  visitor  to  Grindelwald.  Of  the  numerous 
"  inconveniences  of  travel  "  cited  by  an  early 
visitor  to  the  Alps,  we  need  now  only  fear 
"  the  wonderful  cunning  of  Innkeepers." 
Stilled  are  the  voices  that  were  once  supposed 
to  speak  in  the  thunder  and  the  avalanche. 
The  dragons  that  used  to  wing  their  way 
across  the  ravines  of  the  central  chain  have 
joined  the  Dodo  and  "  the  men  that  eat  the 
flesh  of  serpents  and  hiss  as  serpents  do." 
Danger,  a  luxury  to  the  modern,  formed  part 
of  the  routine  of  mediaeval  life.  Our  ancestors 
had  no  need  to  play  at  peril;  and,  lest  we 
lightly  assume  that  the  modern  mountaineer 
is  a  braver  man  than  those  who  shuddered 
on  the  St.  Bernard,  let  us  remember  that  our 
ancestors  accepted  with  grave  composure  a 
daily  portion  of  inevitable  risks.  Modern  life 
is  so  secure  that  we  are  forced  to  the  Alps 
in  search  of  contrast.  .  When  our  ancestors 
needed  contrast,  they  joined  a  monastery. 

Must  we  assume  that  danger  blinded  them 
to  the  beauty  of  the  Alps?  The  mountains 
themselves  have  not  changed.     The  modern 


14  THE  ALPS 

mountaineer  sees,  from  the  windows  of  the 
Berne  express,  a  picture  whose  colours  have 
not  faded  in  the  march  of  Time.  The  bar  of 
silver  that  thrusts  itself  above  the  distant 
foothills,  as  the  train  swings  out  of  the 
wooded  fortress  of  the  Jura,  casts  the  same 
challenge  across  the  long  shadows  of  the  up- 
lands. The  peaks  are  a  little  older,  but  the 
vision  that  lights  the  world  for  us  shone  with 
the  same  steadfast  radiance  across  the  plains 
of  long  ago.  Must  we  believe  that  our 
adventurous  forefathers  could  find  nothing 
but  fear  in  the  snows  of  the  great  divide? 
Dangers  which  have  not  yet  vanished  menaced 
their  journey,  but  the  white  gleam  of  the 
distant  snows  was  no  less  beautiful  in  the 
days  when  it  shone  as  a  beacon  light  to 
guide  the  adventurous  through  the  great 
barrier  down  the  warmth  of  Italian  lowlands. 
An  age  which  could  face  the  great  adventure 
of  the  Crusades  for  an  idea,  or  more  often  for 
the  sheer  lust  of  romantic  wandering,  was  not 
an  age  easily  daunted  by  peril  and  discomfort. 
May  we  not  hope  that  many  a  mute,  in- 
glorious mountain-lover  lifted  his  eyes  across 
the  fields  and  rivers  near  Basle  or  Constance, 
and  found  some  hint  of  elusive  beauty  in  the 
vision  that  still  remains  a  mystery,  even  for 
those  who  have  explored  the  once  trackless 
snows  ? 


THE  MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE       15 

Those  who  have  tried  to  discover  the 
mediaeval  attitude  have  too  often  merely 
generalised  from  detached  expressions  of 
horror.  Passages  of  praise  have  been  treated 
as  exceptional.  The  Monk  Bremble  and  the 
Bishop  Berkeley  have  had  their  say,  un- 
challenged by  equally  good  evidence  for  the 
defence.  Let  us  remember  that  plenty  of 
modem  travellers  might  show  an  equally 
pronounced  distaste  for  mountains.  For  the 
defence,  we  might  quote  the  words  of  an  old 
traveller  borrowed  in  Coryat's  Crudities,  a 
book  which  appeared  in  1611 :  "  What,  I 
pray  you,  is  more  pleasant,  more  delectable, 
and  more  acceptable  unto  a  man  than  ^to 
behold  the  height  of  hilles,  as  it  were  the  very 
Atlantes  of  he.auen?  to  admire  Hercules  his 
pillers?  to  see  the  mountaines  Taurus  and 
Caucasus  ?  to  view  the  hilLOlympus,  the  seat 
of  Jupiter  ?  to  pass  over  the  Alpes  that  were 
broken  by  Annibals  Vinegar?  to  climb  up 
the  Appenine  promontory  of  Italy?  from 
the  hill  Ida  to  behold  the  rising  of  the 
Sunne  before  the  Sunne  appears?  to  visit 
Pernassus  and  Helicon,  the  most  celebrated 
seates  of  the  Muses  ?  Neither  indeed  is  there 
any  hill  or  hillocke,  which  doth  not  containc 
in  it  the  most  swcete  memory  of  worthy 
matters." 

There  is  the  genuine  ring  about  this.     It  is 


16  THE  ALPS 

the  modem  spirit  without  the  modern  affec- 
tations. Nor  is  this  case  exceptional.  In  the 
following  chapter  we  shall  sketch  the  story 
of  the  early  Alpine  explorers,  and  we  shall 
quote  many  passages  instinct  with  the  real 
love  for  the  hills. 

Are  we  not  entitled  to  believe  that  Gesner, 
Marti,  and  Petrarch  are  characteristic  of 
one  phase  of  mediaeval  sentiment,  just  as 
Bremble  is  characteristic  of  another?  There 
is  abundant  evidence  to  show  that  the  habit 
of  visiting  and  admiring  mountain  scenery 
had  become  fashionable  before  the  close  of 
the  sixteenth  century.  Simler  tells  us  that 
foreigners  came  from  all  lands  to  marvel  at 
the  mountains,  and  excuses  a  certain  lack  of 
interest  among  his  compatriots  on  the  ground 
that  they  are  surfeited  with  a  too  close  know- 
ledge of  the  Alps.  Marti,  of  whom  we  shall 
speak  at  greater  length,  tells  us  that  he  found 
on  the  summit  of  the  Stockhorn  the  Greek 
inscription  cut  in  a  stone  which  may  be 
rendered  :  "  The  love  of  mountains  is  best." 
And  then  there  is  the  evidence  of  art.  Con- 
ventional criticism  of  mountain  art  often 
revolves  in  a  circle :  "  The  mediaeval  man 
detested  mountains,  and  when  he  painted  a 
mountain  he  did  so  by  w  xy  of  contrast  to  set 
off  the  beauty  of  the  plains."  Or  again : 
"Mediaeval  man  only  painted  mountains  as 


THE  MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE       17 

types  of  all  that  is  terrible  in  Nature.  There- 
fore, mediaeval  man  detested  mountains." 

Let  us  try  to  approach  the  work  of  these 
early  craftsmen  with  no  preconceived  notions 
as  to  their  sentiments.  The  canvases  still 
remain  as  they  were  painted.  What  do  they 
teach  us?  It  is  not  difficult  to  discriminate 
between  those  who  used  mountains  to  point 
a  contrast,  and  those  who  lingered  with 
devotion  on  the  beauty  of  the  hills.  When  we 
find  a  man  painting  mountains  loosely  and 
carelessly,  we  may  assume  that  he  was  not 
over  fond  of  his  subject.  Jan  von  Scorel's 
grotesque  rocks  show  nothing  but  equally 
grotesque  fear.  Hans  Altdorfer's  elaborate 
and  careful  work  proves  that  he  was  at  least 
interested  in  mountains,  and  had  cleared  his 
mind  of  conventional  terror.  Roughly,  we 
may  say  that,  where  the  foreground  shows 
good  and  the  mountain  background  shows 
bad  workmanship,  the  artist  cared  nothing  for 
hills,  and  only  threw  them  in  by  way  of 
gloomy  contrast.  But  such  pictures  are  not 
the  general  rule. 

Let  us  take  a  very  early  mountain  painting 
that  dates  from  1444.  It  is  something  of  a 
shock  to  find  the  Sal^ve  and  Mont  Blanc  as 
the  background  to  a  New  Testament  scene. 
How  is  the  background  used  ?  Konrad  Witz, 
the  painter,  has  chosen  for  his  theme  the 


18  THE  ALPS 

miraculous  draught  of  fishes.  If  he  had 
borrowed  a  mountain  background  for  the 
Temptation,  the  Betrayal,  the  Agony,  or  the 
Crucifixion,  we  might  contend  that  the  moun- 
tains were  introduced  to  accentuate  the 
gloom.  But  there  is  no  suggestion  of  fear 
or  sorrow  in  the  peaceful  calm  that  followed 
the  storm  of  Calvary.  The  mountains  in 
the  distance  are  the  hills  as  we  know  them. 
There  is  no  reason  to  think  that  they  are 
intended  as  a  contrast  to  the  restful  fore- 
ground. Rather,  they  seem  to  complete  and 
round  off  the  happy  serenity  of  the  picture. 

Let  us  consider  the  mountain  work  of  a 
greater  man  than  Witz.  We  may  be  thankful 
that  Providence  created  this  barrier  of  hills 
between  the  deep  earnestness  of  the  North 
and  the  tolerance  of  Italy,  for  to  this  we 
owe  some  of  the  best  mountain-scapes  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  There  is  romance  in  the 
thought  of  Albrecht  Diirer  crossing  the 
Brenner  on  his  way  to  the  Venetian  lagoons 
that  he  loved  so  well.  Did  Diirer  regard 
this  journey  with  loathing?  Were  the  great 
Alps  no  more  than  an  obstacle  on  the  road 
to  the  coast  where  the  Adriatic  breaks  "  in 
a  warm  bay  'mid  green  lUyrian  hills."  Did 
he  echo  the  pious  cry  of  that  old  Monk  who 
could  only  pray  to  be  delivered  from  "  this 
place  of  torment,"  or  did  he  rather  linger 


THE  MEDIAEVAL  ATTITUDE       19 

with  loving  memory  on  the  wealth  of  in- 
spiring suggestion  gathered  in  those  ad- 
venturous journeys?  Contrast  is  the  essence 
of  Art,  and  Diirer  was  too  great  a  man  to 
miss  the  rugged  appeal  of  untamed  cliffs, 
because  he  could  fathom  so  easily  the  gentler 
charm  of  German  fields  and  Italian  waters. 
You  will  find  in  these  mountain  woodcuts  the 
whole  essence  of  the  lovable  German  romance, 
that  peculiar  note  of  "  snugness  "  due  to  the 
contr'ast  of  frowning  rock  and  some  "  gemiit- 
lich"  Black  Forest  chalet.  Hans  Andersen, 
though  a  Dane,  caught  this  note;  and  in 
Durer's  work  there  is  the  same  appealing 
romance  that  makes  the  "Ice  Maiden"  the 
most  lovable  of  Alpine  stories.  One  can 
almost  see  Rudy  marching  gallantly  up  the 
long  road  in  Durer's  "  Das  Grosse  Gliick,"  or 
returning  with  the  eaglets  stolen  from  their 
perilous  nest  in  the  cliffs  that  shadow  the 
"  Heimsuch."  Those  who  pretend  that  Diirer 
introduced  mountains  as  a  background  of 
gloom  have  no  sense  for  atmosphere  nor  for 
anything  else.  For  Diirer,  the  mountains 
were  the  home  of  old  romance. 

Turn  from  Diirer  to  Da  Vinci,  and  you  will 
find  another  note.  Da  Vinci  was,  as  we  shall 
see,  a  climber,  and  this  gives  the  dominant 
note  to  his  great  study  of  storm  and  thunder 
among   the   peaks,  to  be   seen  at  Windsor 


20  THE  ALPS 

Castle.  His  mountain  rambles  have  given 
him  that  feeling  of  worship,  tempered  by  awe, 
which  even  the  Climbers'  Guides  have  not 
banished.  But  this  book  is  not  a  treatise  on 
mountain  Art — a  fascinating  subject;  and  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  the  statement 
that  painters  of  all  ages  have  found  in  the 
mountains  the  love  which  is  more  powerful 
than  fear.  Those  who  doubt  this  may  examine 
at  leisure  the  moimtain  work  of  Brueghel, 
Titian,  or  Mantegna.  There  are  many  other 
witnesses.  At  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  Hans  Leu  had  looked  upon  the  hills 
and  found  them  good,  and  Altdorfer  had 
shown  not  only  a  passionate  enthusiasm  for 
mountains,  but  a  knowledge  of  their  anatomy 
far  ahead  of  his  age.  Wolf  Huber,  ten  years 
his  junior,  carried  on  the  torch,  and  passed 
it  to  Lautensack,  who  recaptured  the  peculiar 
note  of  German  romance  of  which  Diirer  is 
the  first  and  the  greatest  apostle.  It  would 
be  easy  to  trace  the  apostolic  succession  to 
Segantini,  and  to  prove  that  he  is  the  heir 
to  a  tradition  nearly  six  hundred  years  old. 
But  enough  has  been  said.  We  have  adduced 
a  few  instances  which  bear  upon  the  con- 
tention that,  just  as  the  mountains  of  the 
Middle  Ages  were  much  the  same  as  the 
mountains  of  to-day,  so  also  among  the  men 
of  those  times,  as  among  the  men  of  to-day, 


THE  MEDIEVAL  ATTITUDE       21 

there  were  those  who  hated  and  those  who 
loved  the  heights.  No  doubt  the  lovers  of 
mountain  scenery  were  in  the  minority;  but 
they  existed  in  far  larger  numbers  than  is 
sometimes  supposed. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   PIONEERS 

Within  the  compass  of  this  book,  we 
cannot  narrate  the  history  of  Alpine  passes, 
though  the  subject  is  intensely  interesting, 
but  we  must  not  omit  all  mention  of  the 
great  classic  traverse  of  the  Alps.  We  should 
read  of  Hannibal's  memorable  journey  not 
in  Livy,  nor  even  in  Bohn,  but  in  that  vigorous 
sixteenth-century  translation  which  owes  its 
charm  and  force  even  more  to  Philemon 
Holland  the  translator  than  to  Livy. 

Livy,  or  rather  Holland,  begins  with 
Hannibal's  sentiments  on  "  seeing  near  at 
hand  the  height  of  those  hills  .  .  .  the  horses 
singed  with  cold  .  .  .  the  people  with  long 
shagd  haire."  Hannibal  and  his  army  were 
much  depressed,  but,  none  the  less,  they 
advanced  under  a  fierce  guerilla  attack  from 
the  natives,  who  "  slipt  away  at  night,  every 
one  to  his  owne  harbour."  Then  follows  a 
fine  description  of  the  difficulties  of  the  pass. 
The  poor  elephants  "  were  ever  readie  and 
anone  to  run  upon  their  noses  " — a  phrase 
22 


THE  PIONEERS  28 

which  evokes  a  tremendous  picture — "  and 
the  snow  being  once  with  the  gate  of  so  many 
people  and  beasts  upon  it  fretted  and  thawe.d, 
they  were  fain  to  go  upon  the  bare  yce  under- 
neeth  and  in  the  slabberie  snow-broth  as  it 
relented  and  melted  about  their  heeles."  A 
great  rock  hindered  the  descent;  Hannibal 
set  it  on  fire  and  **  powred  thereon  strong 
vinegar  for  to  calcine  and  dissolve  it,"  a 
device  unknown  to  modern  mountaineers. 
The  passage  ends  with  a  delightful  picture 
of  the  army's  relief  on  reaching  "  the  dales 
and  lower  grounds  which  have  some  little 
banks  lying  to  the  sunne,  and  rivers  withall 
neere  unto  the  woods,  yea  and  places  more 
meet  and  beseeming  for  men  to  inhabit." 
Experts  are  divided  as  to  what  pass  was 
actually  crossed  by  Hannibal.  Even  the  Col 
de  Geant  has  been  suggested  by  a  romantic 
critic;  it  is  certainly  stimulating  to  picture 
Hannibal's  elephants  in  the  G^ant  ice-fall. 
Probably  the  Little  St.  Bernard,  or  the  Mont 
Gen^vre,  is  the  most  plausible  solution.  So 
much  for  the  great  traverse. 

Some  twenty-five  glacier  passes  had  been 
actually  crossed  before  the  close  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  a  fact  which  bears  out 
our  contention  that  in  Ihe  Middle  Ages  a 
good  deal  more  was  known  about  the  craft 
of  mountaineering  than  is  generally  supposed. 


24  THE  ALPS 

There  is,  however,  this  distinctive  difference 
between  passes  and  peaks.  A  man  may 
cross  a  pass  because  it  is  the  most  convenient 
route  from  one  valley  to  another.  He  may 
cross  it  though  he  is  thoroughly  unhappy 
until  he  reaches  his  destination,  and  it  would 
be  just  as  plausible  to  argue  from  his  journey 
a  love  of  mountains  as  to  deduce  a  passion 
for  the  sea  in  every  sea-sick  traveller  across 
the  Channel.  But  a  man  will  not  climb  a 
mountain  unless  he  derives  some  interest 
from  the  actual  ascent.  Passes  may  be 
crossed  in  the  way  of  business.  Mountains 
will  only  be  climbed  for  the  joy  of  the  climb. 
The  Roche  Melon,  near  Susa,  was  the  first 
Alpine  peak  of  any  consequence  to  be  climbed. 
This  mountain  rises  to  a  height  of  11,600  feet. 
It  was  long  believed  to  be  the  highest  moun- 
tain in  Savoy.  On  one  side  there  is  a  small 
glacier ;  but  the  climb  can  be  effected  without 
crossing  snow.  It  was  climbed  during  the 
Dark  Ages  by  a  knight,  Rotario  of  Asti,  who 
deposited  a  bronze  tryptych  on  the  summit 
where  a  chapel  still  remains.  Once  a  year 
the  tryptych  is  carried  to  the  summit,  and 
Mass  is  heard  in  the  chapel.  There  is  a 
description  of  an  attempt  on  this  peak  in  the 
Chronicle  of  Novalessa,  which  dates  back  to 
the  first  half  of  the  eleventh  century.  King 
Romulus  is  said  to  have  deposited  treasure  on 


26  THE  ALPS 

the  mountain.  The  whole  Alpine  history  of 
this  peak  is  vague,  but  it  is  certain  that  the 
peak  was  climbed  at  a  very  early  period,  and 
that  a  chapel  was  erected  on  the  summit  be- 
fore Villamont's  ascent  in  1588.  The  climb 
presents  no  difficulties,  but  it  was  found  dis- 
creet to  remove  the  statue  of  the  Virgin,  as 
pilgrims  seem  to  have  lost  their  lives  in 
attempting  to  reach  it.  The  pilgrimages  did 
not  cease  even  after  the  statue  had  been 
placed  in  Susa. 

Another  early  ascent  must  be  recorded, 
though  the  climb  was  a  very  modest  achieve- 
ment. Mont  Ventoux,  in  Provence,  is  only 
some  6430  feet  above  the  sea,  and  to-day 
there  is  an  hotel  on  the  summit.  None  the 
less,  it  deserves  a  niche  in  Alpine  history,  for 
its  ascent  is  coupled  with  the  great  name  of 
the  poet  Petrarch.  Mr.  Gribble  calls  Petrarch 
the  first  of  the  sentimental  mountaineers. 
Certainly,  he  was  one  of  the  first  mountaineers 
whose  recorded  sentiments  are  very  much 
ahead  of  his  age.  The  ascent  took  place  on 
April  26,  1335,  and  Petrarch  described  it 
in  a  letter  written  to  his  confessor.  He 
confesses  that  he  cherished  for  years  the 
ambition  to  ascend  Mont  Ventoux,  and 
seized  the  first  chance  of  a  companion  to 
carry  through  this  undertaking.  He  makes 
the  customar^'  statement  as  to  the  extreme 


THE  PIONEERS  27 

difficulty  of  the  ascent,  and  introduces  a 
shepherd  who  warns  him  from  the  under- 
taking. There  are  some, very  human  touches 
in  the  story  of  the  climb.  While  his  brother 
was  seeking  short  cuts,  Petrarch  tried  to 
advance  on  more  level  ground,  an  excuse  for 
his  laziness  which  cost  him  dear,  for  the 
others  had  made  considerable  progress  while 
he  was  still  wandering  in  the  gullies  of  the 
mountain.  He  began  to  find,  like  many 
modern  mountaineers,  that  "  human  in- 
genuity was  not  a  match  for  the  nature  of 
things,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  gain 
heights  by  moving  downwards."  He  suc- 
cessfully completed  the  ascent,  and  the  climb 
filled  him  with  enthusiasm.  The  reader 
should  study  the  fine  translation  of  his  letter 
by  Mr.  Reeve,  quoted  in  The  Early  Moun- 
taineers. Petrarch  caught  the  romance  of 
heights.  The  spirit  that  breathes  through 
every  line  of  his  letter  is  worthy  of  the  poet. 

Petrarch  is  not  the  only  great  name  that 
links  the  Renaissance  to  the  birth  of  moun- 
taineering. That  versatile  genius,  Leonardo 
da  Vinci,  carried  his  scientific  explorations 
into  the  mountains.  We  have  already  men- 
tioned his  great  picture  of  storm  and  thunder 
among  the  hills,  one  of  the  few  mementos 
that  have  survived  from  his  Alpine  journeys. 
His  journey  took  place  towards  the  end  of 


28  THE  ALPS 

the  fifteenth  century.  Little  is  known  of 
it,  though  the  following  passage  from  his 
works  has  provoked  much  comment.  The 
translation  is  due  to  Mrs.  Bell :  "  And  this 
may  be  seen,  as  I  saw  it,  by  any  one  going  up 
Monboso,  a  peak  of  the  Alps  which  divide 
France  from  Italy.  The  base  of  this  moun- 
tain gives  birth  to  the  four  rivers  which  flow 
in  four  different  directions  through  the  whole 
of  Europe.  And  no  mountain  has  its  base 
at  so  great  a  height  as  this,  which  lifts  itself 
above  almost  all  the  clouds;  and  snow 
seldom  falls  there,  but  only  hail  in  the  summer 
when  the  clouds  are  highest.  And  this  hail 
lies  (unmelted)  there,  so  that,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  absorption  of  the  rising  and  falling 
clouds,  which  does  not  happen  more  than 
twice  in  an  age,  an  enormous  mass  of  ice 
would  be  piled  up  there  by  the  layers  of  hail ; 
and  in  the  middle  of  July  I  found  it  very 
considerable,  and  I  saw  the  sky  above  me 
quite  dark;  and  the  sim  as  it  fell  on  the 
mountain  was  far  brighter  here  than  in  the 
plains  below,  because  a  smaller  extent  of 
atmosphere  lay  between  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  and  the  sun." 

We  need  not  summarise  the  arguments 
that  identify  Monbosa  either  with  Monte 
Rosa  or  Monte  Viso.  The  weight  of  evidence 
inclines  to  the  former  alternative,  though,  of 


THE  PIONEERS  29 

course,  nobody  supposes  that  Da  Vinci 
actually  reached  the  summit  of  Monte  Rosa. 
There  is  good  ground,  however,  for  believing 
that  he  explored  the  lower  slopes;  and  it  is 
just  possible  that  he  may  have  got  as  far  as 
the  rocks  above  the  Col  d'Ollen,  Where,  accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Freshfield,  the  inscription  "  A.T.M., 
1615  "  has  been  found  cut  into  the  crags  at 
a  height  of  10,000  feet.  In  this  connection 
it  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  name  "  Mon- 
bosa  "  has  been  found  in  place  of  Monte  Rosa 
in  maps,  as  late  as  1740.^ 

We  now  come  to  the  first  undisputed  ascent 
of  a  mountain,  still  considered  a  difficult 
rock  climb.  The  year  that  saw  the  discovery 
of  America  is  a  great  date  in  the  history 
of  mountaineering.  In  1492,  Charles  VII  of 
France  passed  through  Dauphiny,  and  was 
much  impressed  by  the  appearance  of  Mont 
Aiguille,  a  rocky  peak  near  Grenoble  that 
was  then  called  Mont  Inaccessible.  This 
mountain  is  only  some  seven  thousand  feet 
in  height ;  but  it  is  a  genuine  rock  climb,  and 
is  still  considered  difficult,  so  much  so  that 
the  French  Alpine  Club  have  paid  it  the 
doubtful  compliment  of  iron  cables  in  the 
more  sensational  passages.  Charles  VII  was 
struck  by  the  appearance  of  the  mountain, 

^  See  Mr.  Gribble'a  Early  Mountaineers,  Chap.  V.,  where 
the  arguments  on  each  side  are  skilfully  summarised. 


80  THE  ALPS 

and  ordered  his  Chamberlain  de  Beaupr^  to 
make  the  ascent.  Beaupr6,  by  the  aid  of 
"  subtle  means  and  engines,"  scaled  the  peak, 
had  Mass  said  on  the  top,  and  caused  three 
crosses  to  be  erected  on  the  summit.  It  was 
a  remarkable  ascent,  and  was  not  repeated 
till  1834. 

We  are  not  concerned  with  exploration 
beyond  the  Alps,  and  we  have  therefore 
omitted  Peter  Ill's  attempt  on  Pic  Canigou 
in  the  Pyrenees,  and  the  attempt  on  the 
Pic  du  Midi  in  1588;  but  we  cannot  on  the 
ground  of  irrelevance  pass  over  a  remarkable 
ascent  in  1521.  Cortez  is  our  authority. 
Under  his  order,  a  band  of  Spaniards  ascended 
Popocatapetl,  a  Mexican  volcano  which 
reaches  the  respectable  height  of  17,850  feet. 
These  daring  climbers  brought  back  quantities 
of  sulphur  which  the  army  needed  for  its 
gunpowder. 

The  Stockhom  is  a  modest  peak  some 
seven  thousand  feet  in  height.  Simler  tells  us 
that  its  ascent  was  a  commonplace  achieve- 
ment. Marti,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  previous 
chapter,  found  numberless  inscriptions  cut 
into  the  summit  stones  by  visitors,  enthusi- 
astic ,  in  their  appreciation  of  mountain 
scenery,  and  its  ascent  by  Miiller,  a  Berne 
professor,  in  1536,  is  only  remarkable  for  the 
joyous  poem  in  hexameters  which  records  his 


THE  PIONEERS  81 

delight  in  all  the  aceompaniments  of  a  moun- 
tain expedition.  Miiller  has  the  true  feelings 
for  the  simpler  pleasures  of  picnicing  on  the 
heights.  Everything  delights  him,  from  the 
humble  fare  washed  down  with  a  draught 
from  a  mountain  stream,  to  the  primitive  joy 
of  hurling  big  rocks  down  a  mountain  side. 
The  last  confession  endears  him  to  all  who 
have  practised  this  simple,  if  dangerous, 
amusement. 

The  early  history  of  Pilatus,  another  low- 
lying  mountain,  is  much  more  eventful  than 
ike  annals  of  the  Stockhom.  It  is  closely 
bound  up  with  the  Pilate  legend,  which  was 
firmly  believed  till  a  Lucerne  pastor  gave  it 
the  final  quietus  in  1585.  Pontius  Pilate, 
according  to  this  story,  was  condemned  by 
the  Emperor  Tiberilis,  who  decreed  that  he 
should  be  put  to  death  in  the  most  shameful 
possible  manner.  Hearing  this,  Pilate  very 
sensibly  committed  suicide.  Tiberius  con- 
cealed his  chagrin,  and  philosophically  re- 
marked that  a  man  whose  own  hand  had  not 
spared  him  had  most  certainly  died  the  most 
shameful  of  deaths.  Pilate's  body  was  at- 
tached to  a  stone  and  flung  into  the  Tiber, 
where  it  caused  a  succession  of  terrible 
storms.  The  Romans  decided  to  remove  it, 
and  the  body  was  conveyed  to  Vienne  as  a 
mark  of  contempt  for  the   people   of  that 


82  THE  ALPS 

place.  It  was  flung  into  the  Rhone,  and  did 
its  best  to  maintain  its  reputation.  We  need 
not  follow  this  troublesome  corpse  through 
its  subsequent  wanderings.  It  was  finally 
hurled  into  a  little  marshy  lake,  near  the 
summit  of  Pilatus.  Here  Pilate's  behaviour 
was  tolerable  enough,  though  he  resented 
indiscriminate  stone-throwing  into  the  lake 
by  evoking  terrible  storms,  and  once  a  year 
he  escaped  from  the  waters,  and  sat  clothed 
in  a  scarlet  robe  on  a  rock  near  by.  Anybody 
luckless  enough  to  see  him  on  these  occasions 
died  within  the  twelve-month. 

So  much  for  the  story,  which  was  firmly 
believed  by  the  good  citizens  of  Lucerne. 
Access  to  the  lake  was  forbidden,  unless  the 
visitor  was  accompanied  by  a  respectable 
burgher,  pledged  to  veto  any  practices  that 
Pilate  might  construe  as  a  slight.  In  1307, 
six  clergymen  were  imprisoned  for  having 
attempted  an  ascent  without  observing  the 
local  regulations.  It  is  even,  said  that  climbers 
were  occasionally  put  to  death  for  breaking 
these  stringent  by-laws.  None  the  less, 
ascents  occasionally  took  place.  Duke  Ulrich 
of  Wiirtemburg  climbed  the  mountain  in  1518, 
and  a  professor  of  Vienna,  by  name  Joachim 
von  Watt,  ascended  the  mountain  in  order 
to  investigate  the  legend,  which  he  seems  to 
have  believed  after  a  show  of  doulbt.     Finally, 


THE  PIONEERS  83 

in  1585,  Pastor  John  Miiller  of  Lucerne, 
accompanied  by  a  few  courageous  sceptics, 
visited  the  lake.  In  their  presence,  he  threw 
stones  into  the  haunted  lake,  and  shouted 
"  Pilate  wirf  aus  dein  Kath."  As  his  taunts 
produced  no  effect,  judgment  was  given  by 
default,  and  the  legend,  which  had  sent 
earlier  sceptics  into  gaol,  was  laughed  out  of 
existence. 

Thirty  years  before  this  defiant  demonstra- 
tion, the  mountain  had  been  ascended  by  the 
most  remarkable  of  the  early  mountaineers. 
Conrad  Gesner  was  a  professor  at  the  ancient 
University  of  Zurich.  Though  not  the  first 
to  make  climbing  a  regular  practice,  he  was 
the  pioneer  of  mountain  literature.  He  never 
encountered  serious  difficulties.  His  moun- 
taineering was  confined  to  those  lower  heights 
which  provide  the  modern  with  a  training 
walk.  But  he  hstd  the  authentic  outlook  of 
the  mountaineer.  His  love  for  mountains  was 
more  genuine  than  that  of  many  a  modem 
wielder  of  the  ice-axe  and  rope.  A  letter 
has  been  preserved,  in  which  he  records  his 
resolution  "  to  climb  mountains,  or  at  all 
events  to  climb  one  mountain  every  year." 

We  have  no  detailed  record  of  his  cUmbs, 

but  luckily  his  account  of  an  ascent  of  Pilatus 

still  survives,  a  most  sincere  tribute  to  the 

simple    pleasures    of   the   heights.     It   is   a 

c 


34  THE   ALPS 

relief  to  turn  to  it  after  wading  through  more 
recent  Alpine  literature.  Gesner's  writing  is 
subjective.  It  records  the  impress  of  simple 
emotions  on  an  unsophisticated  mind.  He 
finds  a  naive  joy  in  all  the  elemental  things 
that  make  up  a  mountain  walk,  the  cool 
breezes  plying  on  heated  limbs,  the  sun's 
genial  warmth,  the  contrasts  of  outline,  colour, 
and  height,  the  unending  variety,  so  that 
"  in  one  day  you  wander  through  the  four 
seasons  of  the  year.  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn 
and  Winter."  He  explains  -that  every  sense 
is  delighted,  the  sense  of  hearing  is  gratified 
by  the  witty  conversation  of  friends,  "  by  the 
songs  of  the  birds,  and  even  by  the  stillness 
of  the  waste."  He  adds,  in  a  very  modern 
note,  that  the  mountaineer  is  freed  from  the 
noisy  tumult  of  the  city,  and  that  in  the 
"  profound  abiding  silence  one  catches  echoes 
of  the  harmony  of  celestial  spheres."  There 
is  more  in  the  same  key.  He  anticipates  the 
most  'enduring  reward  of  the  mountaineer, 
and  his  words  might  serve  as  the  motto  for 
a  mountain  book  of  to-day  :  "  Jucundum  erit 
postea  meminisse  laborum  atque  periculorum, 
juvabit  hsec  animo  revolvere  et  narrare 
amicis."  Toil  and  danger  are  sweet  to  recall, 
every  mountaineer  loves  "  to  revolve  these 
in  his  mind  and  to  tell  them  to  his  friends." 
Moreover,  contrast  is  the  essence  of  our  enjoy- 


THE   PIONEERS  85 

ment  and  "  the  very  delight  of  rest  is  in- 
tensified when  it  follows  hard  labour."  And 
then  Gesner  turns  with  a  burst  of  scorn  to  his 
imaginary  opponent.  "  But,  say  you,  we 
lack  feather  beds  and  mattresses  and  pillows. 
Oh,  frail  and  effeminate  man  !  Hay  shall 
take  the  place  of  these  luxuries.  It  is  soft, 
it  is  fragrant.  It  is  blended  from  healthy 
grass  and  flower,  and  as  you  sleep  respiration 
will  be  sweeter  and  healthie^than  ever.  Your 
pillow  shall  be  of  hay.  Your  mattress  shall 
be  of  hay.  A  blanket  of  hay  shall  be  thrown 
across  your  body."  That  is  the  kind  of  thing 
an  enthusiastic  mountaineer  might  have 
written  about  the  club-huts  in  the  old  days 
before  the  hay  gave  place  to  mattresses.  Nor 
does  Gesner  spoil  his  rhapsody  by  the  in- 
evitable joke  about  certain  denizens  of  the 
hay.  '  " 

There  follows  an  eloquent  description  of 
the  ascent  and  an  analysis  of  the  Pilate 
legend.  Thirty  years  were  to  pass  before 
Pastor  Miiller  finally  disposed  of  the  myth, 
but  Gesner  is  clearly  sceptical,  and  concludes 
with  the  robust  assertion  that,  even  if  evil 
spirits  exist,  they  are  "  impotent  to  harm  the 
faithful  who  worship  the  one  heavenly  light, 
and  Christ  the  Sun  of  Justice."  A  bold 
challenge  to  the  superstitions  of  the  age,  a 
challenge  worthy  of  the  man.     Conrad  Gesner 


86  THE  ALPS 

was  born  out  of  due  season;  and,  though  he 
does  not  seem  to  have  crossed  the  snow  line, 
he  was  a  mountaineer  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
term.  As  we  read  his  work,  we  seem  to  hear 
the  voice  of  a  friend.  Across  the  years  we 
catch  the  accents  of  a  true  member  of  our 
great  fraternity.  We  leave  him  with  regret, 
with  a  wish  that  we  could  meet  him  on  some 
mountain  path,  and  gossip  for  a  while  on 
mountains  and  mountaineers. 

But  Gesner  was  not,  as  is  sometimes 
assumed,  alone  in  this  sentiment  for  the  hills. 
In  the  first  chapter  we  have  spoken  of  Marti, 
a  professor  at  Berne,  and  a  close  friend  of 
Gesner.  The  credit  for  discovering  him  be- 
longs, I  think,  to  Mr.  Freshfield,  who  quotes 
some  fine  passages  from  Marti's  writings. 
Marti  looks  out  from  the  terrace  at'  Berne  on 
that  prospect  which  no  true  mountain  lover 
can  behold  without  emotion,  and  exclaims  : 
"  These  are  the  mountains  which  form  our 
pleasure  and  delight  when  we  gaze  at  them 
from  the  highest  parts  of  our  city,  and  admire 
their  mighty  peaks  and  broken  crags  that 
threaten  to  fall  at  any  moment.  Who,  then, 
would  not  admire,  love,  willingly  visit,  ex- 
plore, and  climb  places  of  this  sort  ?  I  should 
assuredly  call  those  who  are  not  attracted  by 
them  dolts,  stupid  dull  fishes,  and  slow 
tortoises.  ...  I  am  never  happier  than  on 


THE  PIONEERS  87 

the  mountain  crests,  and  there  are  no  wan- 
derings dearer  to  one  than  those  on  the 
mountains." 

This  passage  tends  to  prove  that  mountain 
appreciation  had  already  become  a  common- 
place with  cultured  men.  Had  Marti's  views 
been  exceptional,  he  would  have  assumed  a 
certain  air  of  defence.  He  would  explain 
precisely  why  he  found  pleasure  in  such  un- 
expected places.  He  would  attempt  to  justify 
his  paradoxical  position.  Instead,  he  boldly 
assumes  that  every  right-minded  man  loves 
mountains;  and  he  confounds  his  opponents 
by  a  vigorous  choice  of  unpleasant  alternatives. 

Josias  Simler  was  a  mountaineer  of  a  very 
different  type.  To  him  belongs  the  credit  of 
compiling  the  first  treatise  on  the  art  of 
Alpine  travel.  Though  he  introduces  no 
personal  reminiscences,  his  work  is  so  free 
from  current  superstition  that  he  must  have 
been  something  of  a  climber;  but,  though  a 
climber,  he  did  not  share  Gesner's  enthusiasm 
for  the  hills.  For,  though  he  seems  to  have 
crossed  glacier  passes,  whereas  Gesner  confined 
himself  to  the  lower  mountains,  yet  the  note 
of  enthusiasm  is  lacking.  His  horror  of 
narrow  paths,  bordering  on  precipices,  is 
typical  of  thi  age;  and  if  he  ventured  across 
a  prass  he  must  have  done  so  in  the  way  of 
business.     There    is,    as    we    have    already 


88  THE  ALPS 

pointed  out,  a  marked  difference  between 
passes  and  mountains.  A  merchant  with  a 
holy  horror  of  mountains  may  be  forced  to 
cross  a  pass  in  the  way  of  business,  but  a  man 
will  only  climb  a  mountain  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing.  It  is  clear  that  Simler  could  only  see 
in  mountains  a  seuse  of  inconvenient  barriers 
to  commerce,  but  as  a  practical  man  he  set 
out  to  codify  the  existing  knowledge.  Gesner's 
mountain  work  is  subjective;  it  is  the  litera- 
ture of  emotion ;  he  is  less  concerned  with  the 
mountain  in  itself,  than  with  the  mountain 
as  it  strikes  the  individual  observer.  Simler, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  the  forerunner  of  the 
objective  school.  He  must  delight  those 
who  postulate  that  all  Alpine  literature  should 
be  the  record  of  positive  facts.  The  personal 
note  is  utterly  lacking.  Like  Gesner,  he  was 
a  professor  at  Zurich.  Unlike  Gesner,  he  was 
an  embodiment  of  the  academic  tradition 
that  is  more  concerned  with  fact  than  with 
emotion.  None  the  less,  his  work  was  a  very 
valuable  contribution,  as  it  summarised  exist- 
ing knowledge  on  the  art  of  mountain  travel. 
His  information  is  singularly  free  from  error. 
He  seems  to  have  understood  the  use  of  the 
rope,  alpenstocks,  crampons,  dark  spectacles, 
and  the  use  of  paper  as  a  protection  against 
cold.  It  is  strange  that  crampons,  which 
were  used  in  Simler's  days,  were  only  reintro- 


THE  PIONEERS  89 

duced  into  general  practice  within  the  last 
decades,  whilst  the  uncanny  warmth  of  paper 
is  still  unknown  to  many  mountaineers.  His 
description  of  glacier  perils,  due  to  concealed 
crevasses,  is  accurate,  and  his  analysis  of 
avalanches  contains  much  that  is  true.  We 
are  left  with  the  conviction  that  snow-  and 
ice-craft  is  an  old  science,  though  originally 
applied  by  merchants  rather  than  pure 
explorers. 

We  quoted  Simler,  in  the  first  chapter,  in 
support  of  our  contention  that  foreigners 
came  in  great  numbers  to  see  and  rejoice  in 
the  beauty  of  the  Alps.  But,  though  Simler 
proves  that  passes  were  often  crossed  in  the 
way  of  business,  and  that  mountains  were 
often  visited  in  search  of  beauty,  he  himself 
was  no  mountain  lover. 

It  is  a  relief  to  turn  to  Scheuchzer,  who  is  a 
living  personality.  Like  Gesner  and  Simler, 
he  was  a  professor  at  Zurich,  and,  like  them, 
he  was  interested  in  mountains.  There  the 
resemblance  ceases.  He  had  none  of  Gesner's 
fine  sentiment  for  the  hills.  He  did  not  share 
Simler' s  passion  for  scientific  knowledge.  He 
was  a  very  poor  mountaineer,  and,  though  he 
trudged  up  a  few  hills,  he  heartily  disliked 
the  toil  of  the  ascent :  "  Anhelosae  quidem 
sunt  scansiones  montium  " — an  honest,  but 
scarcely    inspiring,    comment    on    mountain 


40  THE  ALPS 

travel.  Honesty,  bordering  on  the  naive,  is, 
indeed,  the  keynote  of  our  good  professor's 
confessions.  Since  his  time,  many  ascents 
have  failed  for  the  same  causes  that  pre- 
vented Scheuchzer  reaching  the  summit  of 
Pilatus,  but  few  mountaineers  are  candid 
enough  to  attribute  their  failure  to  "  bodily 
weariness  and  the  distance  still  to  be  accom- 
plished." Scheuchzer  must  be  given  credit 
for  being,  in  many  ways,  ahead  of  his  age. 
He  protested  vigorously  against  the  cruel 
punishments  in  force  against  witches.  He 
was  the  first  to  formulate  a  theory  of  glacier 
motion  which,  though  erroneous,  was  by  no 
means  absurd.  As  a  scientist,  he  did  good 
work  in  popularising  Newton's  theories.  He 
published  the  first  map  of  Switzerland  with 
any  claims  to  accuracy.  His  greatest  scientific 
work  on  dragons  is  dedicated  to  the  English 
Royal  Society,  and  though  Scheuchzer's 
dragons  provoke  a  smile,  we  should  remember 
that  several  members  of  that  learned  society 
subscribed  to  publish  his  researches  on  those 
fabulous  creatures: 

With  his  odd  mixture  of  credulity  and 
eonunon  sense,  Scheuchzer  often  recalls 
another  genial  historian  of  vulgar  errors 
Like  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  he  could  never 
dismiss  a  picturesque  legend  without  a  pang. 
He  gives  the  more  blatant  absurdities  their 


THE  PIONEERS  41 

quietus  with  the  same  gentle  and  reluctant 
touch  :  "  That  the  sea  is  the  sweat  of  the 
earth,  that  the  serpent  before  the  fall  went 
erect  like  man  .  .  .  being  neither  consonant 
unto  reason  nor  corresponding  unto  experi- 
ment, are  unto  us  no  axioms."  Thus  Browne, 
and  it  is  with  the  same  tearful  and  chastened 
scepticism  that  Scheuchzer  parts  with  the  more 
outrageous  "  axioms  "  in  his  wonderful  collec- 
tion. But  he  retained  enough  to  make  his 
work  amusing.  Like  Browne,  he  made  it  a 
rule  to  believe  half  that  he  was  told.  But  on 
the  subject  of  dragons  he  has  no  mental 
reservations.  Their  existence  is  proved  by 
the  number  of  caves  that  are  admirably  suited 
to  the  needs  of  the  domestic  dragon,  and  by 
the  fact  that  the  Museum,  at  Lucerne,  con- 
tains an  undoubted  dragon  stone.  Such 
stones  are  rare,  which  is  not  surprising  owing 
to  the  extreme  difhculty  of  obtaining  a  genuine 
unimpaired  specimen.  You  must  first  catch 
your  dragon  asleep,  and  then  cut  the  stone 
out  of  his  head.  Should  the  dragon  awake  the 
value  of  the  stone  will  disappear.  Scheuchzer 
refrains  from  discouraging  collectors  by  hinting 
at  even  more  unpleasant  possibilities.  But 
then  there  is  no  need  to  awaken  the  dragon. 
Scatter  soporific  herbs  around  him,  and  help 
them  out  by  recognised  incantations,  and  the 
stone  should  be  removed  without  arousing 


42  THE  ALPS 

the  dragon.  In  spite  of  these  anaesthetics, 
Scheuchzer  admits  that  the  process  demands 
a  courageous  and  skilled  operator,  and  perhaps 
it  is  lucky  that  this  particular  stone  was 
casually  dropped  by  a  passing  dragon.  It  is 
obviously  genuine,  for,  if  the  peasant  who  had 
picked  it  up  had  been  dishonest,  he  would 
never  have  hit  on  so  obvious  and  unimagina- 
tive a  tale.  He  would  have  told  some  really 
striking  story,  such  as  that  the  stone  had 
come  from  the  far  Indies.  Besides,  the  stone 
not  only  cures  haemorrhages  (quite  common- 
place stones  will  cure  haemorrhages),  but 
also  dysentery  and  plague.  As  to  dragons, 
Scheuchzer  is  even  more  convincing.  He  has 
examined  (on  oath)  scores  of  witnesses  who 
had  observed  dragons  at  first  hand.  We  need 
not  linger  to  cross-examine  these  honest  folk. 
Their  dragons  are  highly  coloured,  and  lack 
nothing  but  uniformity.  Each  new  dragon 
that  flies  into  Scheuchzer's  net  Is  gravely 
classified.  Some  dragons  have  feet,  others 
have  wings.  Some  have  scales.  Scheuchzer 
is  a  little  puzzled  whether  dragons  with  a 
crest  constitute  a  class  of  their  own,  or 
whether  the  crest  distinguished  the  male  from 
the  female.  Each  dragon  is  thus  neatly 
ticketed  into  place  and  referred  to  the  sworn 
deposition  of  some  vir  quidam  probus. 
But    the    dragons    had    had    their    day. 


THE  PIONEERS  48 

Scheuchzer  ushers  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
Let  us  take  leave  of  him  with  a  friendly  smile. 
He  is  no  abstraction,  but  a  very  human  soul. 
We  forget  the  scientist,  though  his  more 
serious  discoveries  were  not  without  value. 
We  remember  only  the  worthy  professor, 
panting  up  his  laborious  hills  in  search  of 
quaint  knowledge,  discovering  with  simple 
joy  that  Genmii  is  derived  from  "  gemitus  " 
a  groan,  quod  non  nisi  crebris  gemitibus 
superetur.  No  doubt  the  needy  fraternity 
soon  discovered  his  amiable  weakness.  An 
unending  procession  must  have  found  their 
way  to  his  door,  only  too  anxious  to  supply 
him  with  dragons  of  wonderful  and  fearful 
construction.  Hence,  the  infinite  variety 
of  these  creatures.  When  we  think  of 
Scheuchzer,  we  somehow  picture  the  poor  old 
gentleman,  laboriously  rearranging  his  data, 
on  the  sworn  deposition  of  some  clarissimus 
homOf  what  time  the  latter  was  bartering  in 
the  nearest  tavern  the  price  of  a  dragon  for 
that  good  cheer  in  which  most  of  Scheuchzer's 
fauna  first  saw  the  light  of  day. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   OPENING  UP  OF  THE   ALPS 

The  climbs,  so  far  chronicled,  have  been 
modest  achievements  and  do  not  include  a 
genuine  snow-peak,  for  the  Roche  Melon  has 
permanent  snow  on  one  side  only.  We  have 
seen  that  many  snow  passes  were  in  regular 
use  from  the  earliest  times ;  but  genuine  Alpine 
climbing  may  be  said  to  begin  with  the  ascent 
of  the  Titlis.  According  to  Mr.  Gribble,  this 
was  climbed  by  a  monk  of  Engleberg,  in  1739. 
Mr.  Coolidge,  on  the  other  hand,  states  that 
it  was  ascended  by  four  peasants,  in  1744. 
In  any  case,  the  ascent  was  an  isolated  feat 
which  gave  no  direct  stimulus  to  Alpine 
climbing,  and  Mr.  Gribble  is  correct  in  dating 
the  continuous  history  of  Alpine  climbing 
from  the  discovery  of  Chamounix,  in  1741. 
This  famous  valley  had,  of  course,  a  history 
of  its  own  before  that  date;  but  its  existence 
was  only  made  known,  to  a  wider  world,  by 
the  visit  of  a  group  of  young  Englishmen, 
towards  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

In  1741,  Geneva  was  enlivened  by  a  vigorous 
4A 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     45 

colony  of  young  Britons.  Of  these,  William 
Windham  was  a  famous  athlete,  known  on 
his  return  to  London  as  "  Boxing  Windham." 
While  at  Geneva,  he  seems,  despite  the  pres- 
ence of  his  "  respectable  perceptor,'*  Mr. 
Benjamin  Stillingfleet,  the  grandson  of  the 
theologian,  to  have  amused  himself  pretty 
thoroughly.  The  archives  record  that  he 
was  fined  for  assault  and  kindred  offences. 
When  these  simple  joys  began  to  pall  he 
decided  to  go  to  Chamounix  in  search  of 
adventure. 

His  party  consisted  of  himself.  Lord  Had- 
dington, Dr.  Pococke,  the  Oriental  traveller, 
and  others.  They  visited  Chamounix,  and 
climbed  the  Montanvert  with  a  large  brigade 
of  guides.  The  ascent  to  the  Montanvert 
was  not  quite  so  simple  as  it  is  to-day,  a  fact 
which  accounts  for  Windham's  highly  coloured 
description.  Windham  published  his  account 
of  the  journey  and  his  reflections  on  glaciers, 
in  the  Journal  Helvetique  of  Neuch&tel,  and 
later  in  London.  It  attracted  considerable 
attention  and  focussed  the  eyes  of  the  curious 
on  the  unknown  valley  of  Chamounix.  Among 
others,  Peter  Martel,  an  engineer  of  Geneva, 
was  inspired  to  repeat  the  visit.  Like  Wind- 
ham, he  climbed  the  Montanvert  and  de- 
scended on  to  the  Mer  de  Glace;  and,  like 
Windham,  he  published  an  account  of  the 


46  THE  ALPS 

journey  and  certain  reflections  on  glaciers  and 
glacier  motion.  His  story  is  well  worth  read- 
ing, and  the  curious  in  such  matters  should 
turn  either  to  Mr.  Cribble's  Early  Mountain- 
eers^ or  to  Mr.  Matthews'  The  Annals  of  Mont 
Blanc,  where  they  will  find  Windham's  and 
Martel's  letters  set  forth  in  full. 

Martel's  letter  and  his  map  of  Chamounix 
were  printed  together  with  Windham's  narra- 
tive, and  were  largely  responsible  for  popular- 
ising Chamounix.  Those  who  wished  to  earn 
a  reputation  for  enterprise  could  hardly  do 
so  without  a  visit  to  the  glaciers  of  Chamounix. 
Dr.  John  Moore,  father  of  Sir  John  Moore, 
who  accompajiied  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  on 
the  grand  tour,  tells  us  that  "  one  could 
hardly  mention  anything  curious  or  singular 
without  being  told  by  some  of  those  travellers, 
with  an  air  of  cool  contempt :  '  Dear  Sir,  that 
is  pretty  well,  but  ta,ke  my  word  for  it,  it  is 
nothing  to  the  glaciers  of  Savoy.' "  The 
Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld  considered  that 
the  honour  of  his  nation  demanded  that  he 
should  visit  the  glaciers,  to  prove  that  the 
English  were  not  alone  in  the  possession  of 
courage. 

More  important,  in  this  connection,  than 
Dr.  Moore  or  the  duke  is  the  great  name  of 
De  Saussure.  De  Saussure  belonged  to  an 
old  French  family  that  had  been  driven  out 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE   ALPS     47 

of  France  during  the  Huguenot  persecutions. 
They  emigrated  to  Geneva,  where  De  Saussure 
was  bom.  His  mother  had  Spartan  views  on 
education ;  and  from  his  earlier  years  the  child 
was  taught  to  suffer  the  privations  due  to 
physical  ills  and  the  inclemency  of  the  season. 
As  a  result  of  this  adventurous  training,  De 
Saussure  was  irresistibly  drawn  to  the  moun- 
tains. He  visited  Chamounix  in  1760,  and 
was  immediately  struck  by  the  possibility 
of  ascending  Mont  Blanc.  He  does  not  seem 
to  have  cherished  any  ambition  to  make  the 
first  ascent  in  person.  He  was  content  to 
follow  when  once  the  way  had  been  found; 
and  he  offered  a  reward  to  the  pioneer,  and 
promised  to  recompense  any  peasant  who 
should  lose  a  day's  work  in  trying  to  find  the 
way  to  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  The 
reward  was  not  claimed  for  many  years,  but, 
meanwhile,  De  Saussure  never  missed  a  chance 
of  climbing  a  mountain.  He  climbed  ^Etna, 
and  made  a  series  of  excursions  in  various 
parts  of  the  Alps.  When  his  wife  complained, 
he  indited  a  robust  letter  which  every  married 
mountaineer  should  keep  up  his  sleeve  for 
ready  quotation. 

"  In  this  valley,  which  I  had  not  previously 
visited,"  he  writes,  "  I  have  made  observa- 
tions of  the  greatest  importance,  surpassing 
my  highest  hopes;  but  that  is  not  what  you 


48  THE  ALPS 

care  about.  You  would  sooner — God  forgive 
me  for  saying  so — see  me  growing  fat  like  a 
friar,  and  snoring  every  day  in  the  chimney 
corner,  after  a  big  dinner,  than  that  I  should 
achieve  immortal  fame  by  the  most  sublime 
discoveries  at  the  cost  of  reducing  my  weight 
by  a  few  ounces  and  spending  a  few  weeks 
away  from  you.  If,  then,  I  continue  to  take 
these  journeys,  in  spite  of  the  annoyance  they 
cause  you,  the  reason  is  that  I  feel  myself 
pledged  in  honour  to  go  on  with  them,  and 
that  I  think  it  necessary  to  extend  my  know- 
ledge on  this  subject  and  make  my  works  as 
nearly  perfect  as  possible.  I  say  to  myself : 
'  Just  as  an  officer  goes  out  to  assault  a  for- 
tress when  the  order  is  given,  and  just  as  a 
merchant  goes  to  market  on  market-day,  so 
must  I  go  to  the  mountains  when  there  are 
observations  to  be  made.'  " 

De  Saussure  was  partly  responsible  for  the 
great  renaissance  of  mountain  travel  that 
began  at  Geneva  in  1760.  A  group  of  en- 
thusiastic mountaineers  instituted  a  series  of 
determined  assaults  on  the  unconquered  snows. 
Of  these,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  was 
Jean-Andre  de  Luc. 

De  Luc  was  born  at  Geneva,  in  1727.  His 
father  was  a  watchmaker,  but  De  Luc's  life 
was  cast  on  more  ambitious  lines.  He  began 
as  a  diplomatist,  but  gravitated  insensibly  to 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     49 

science.  He  invented  the  hygrometer,  and 
was  elected  a  member  of  the  Royal  Societies 
of  London,  Dublin,  and  Gottingen.  Charlotte, 
the  wife  of  George  III,  appointed  him  her 
reader;  and  he  died  at  Windsor,  having 
attained  the  ripe  age  of  ninety.  He  was  a 
scientific,  rather  than  a  sentimental,  moun- 
taineer; his  principal  occupation  was  to 
discover  the  temperature  at  which  water 
would  boil  at  various  altitudes.  His  chief 
claim  to  notice  is  that  he  made  the  first 
ascent  of  the  Buet. 

The  Buet  is  familiar  to  all  who  know 
Chamoimix.  It  rises  to  the  height  of  10,291 
feet.  Its  summit  is  a  broad  plateau,  glacier- 
capped.  Those  who  have  travelled  to  Italy 
by  the  Simplon  may,  perhaps,  recall  the 
broad-topped  mountain  that  seems  to  block 
up  the  western  end  of  the  Rhone  valley,  for 
the  Buet  is  a  conspicuous  feature  on  the  line, 
between  Sion  and  Brigue.  It  is  not  a  difficult 
moimtain,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  term; 
but,  to  climbers  who  knew  little  of  the  nature 
of  snow  and  glacier,  it  must  have  presented 
quite  a  formidable  appearance.  De  Luc  made 
several  attempts  before  he  was  finally  success- 
ful on  September  22,  1770.  His  description 
of  the  view  from  the  summit  is  a  fine  piece 
of  writing.  Familiarity  had  not  staled  the 
glory  of  such  moments;  and  men  might  still 

D 


60  THE  ALPS 

write,  as  they  felt,  without  fear  that  their 
readers  would  be  bored  by  emotions  that  had 
lost  their  novelty. 

Before  leaving,  De  Luc  observed  that  the 
party  were  standing  on  a  cornice.  A  cornice 
is  a  crest  of  windblown  snow  overhanging  a 
precipice.  As  the  crest  often  appears  per- 
fectly continuous  with  the  snow  on  solid 
foundation,  cornices  have  been  responsible 
for  many  fatal  accidents.  De  Luc's  party 
naturally  beat  a  hurried  retreat ;  but  "  having 
gathered,  by  reflection,  that  the  addition  of 
oiu"  own  weight  to  this  prodigious  mass  which 
had  supported  itself  for  ages  counted  for 
absolutely  nothing,  and  could  not  possibly 
break  it  loose,  we  laid  aside  our  fears  and 
went  back  to  the  terrible  terrace."  A  little 
science  is  a  dangerous  thing;  and  it  was  a 
mere  chance  that  the  first  ascent  of  the  Buet 
is  not  notorious  for  a  terrible  accident.  It 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold  to  read  of  the 
calm  contempt  with  which  De  Luc  treated  the 
cornice.  Each  member  of  the  party  took  it 
in  turn  to  advance  to  the  edge  and  look  over 
on  to  the  cliff  below  supported  as  to  his  coat- 
tails  by  the  rest  of  the  party. 

De  Luc  made  a  second  ascent  of  the  Buet, 
two  years  later;  but  it  was  not  until  1779 
that  a  snow  peak  was  again  conquered.  In 
that  year  Murith,  the  Prior  of  the  St.  Bernard 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     51 

Hospice,  climbed  the  Velan,  the  broad-topped 
peak  which  is  so  conspicuous  a  feature  from 
the  St.  Bernard.  It  is  a  very  respectable 
mountain  rising  to  a  height  of  12,353  feet. 
Murith,  besides  being  an  ecclesiastic,  was 
something  of  a  scientist,  and  his  botanical 
handbook  to  the  Valais  is  not  without  merit. 
It  is  to  Bourrit,  of  whom  we  shall  speak 
later,  that  we  owe  the  written  account  of  the 
climb,  based  on  information  which  Bourrit 
had  at  first  hand  from  M.  Murith. 

Murith  started  on  August  80,  1779,  with 
*'  two  hardy  hunters,"  two  thermometers,  a 
barometer,  and  a  spirit-level.  They  slept  a 
night  on  the  way,  and  proceeded  to  attack 
the  mountain  from  the  Glacier  du  Proz.  The 
hardy  hunters  tost  their  nerve,  and  tried  to 
dissuade  M.  Murith  from  the  attempt;  but 
the  gallant  Prior  replied:  "Fear  nothing; 
wherever  there  is  danger  I  will  go  in  front." 
They  encountered  numerous  difficulties, 
amongst  others  a  wall  of  ica  which  Murith 
climbed  by  hacking  steps  and  hand-holds 
with  a  pointed  hammer.  One  of  the  hardy 
huntsmen  then  followed;  his  companion  had 
long  since  disappeared. 

They  reached  the  summit  without  further 
difficulty,  and  their  impressions  of  the  view 
are  recorded  by  Bourrit  in  an  eloquent  passage 
which  recalls  De  Luc  on  the  Buet,  and  once 


52  THE  ALPS 

more  proves  rhat  the  early  mountaineers  were 
fully  alive  to  the  glory  of  mountain  tops — 

•  "  A  spectacle,  no  less  amazing  than  magnifi- 
cent, offered  itself  to  their  gaze.  The  sky 
seemed  to  be  a  black  cloth  enveloping  the 
earth  at  a  distance  from  it.  The  sun  shining 
in  it  made  its  darkness  all  the  more  con- 
spicuous. Down  below  their  outlook  extended 
over  an  enormous  area,  bristling  with  rocky 
peaks  and  cut  by  dark  valleys.  Mont  Blanc 
rose  like  a  sloping  pyramid  and  its  lofty  head 
appeared  to  dominate  all  the  Alps  as  one 
saw  it  towering  above  them.  An  imposing 
stillness,  a  majestic  silence,  produced  an 
indescribable  impression  upon  the  mind.  The 
noise  of  the  avalanches,  reiterated  by  the 
echoes,  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  that 
marked  the  march  of  time.  Raised,  so  to 
say,  above  the  head  of  Nature,  they  saw  the 
mountains  split  asunder,  and  send  the  frag- 
ments rolling  to  their  feet,  and  the  rivers 
rising  below  them  in  places  where  inactive 
Nature  seemed  upon  the  point  of  death — 
though  in  truth  it  is  there  that  she  gathers 
strength  to  carry  life  and  fertility  throughout 
the  world." 

It  is  curious  in  this  connection  to  notice 
the  part  played  by  the  Church  in  the  early 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     58 

history  of  mountaineering.  This  is  not  sur- 
prising. The  local  cur6  lived  in  the  shadow 
of  the  great  peaks  that  dominated  his  valley. 
He  was  more  cultured  than  the  peasants  of 
his  parish ;  he  was  more  alive  to  the  spiritual 
appeal  of  the  high  places,  and  he  naturally 
took  a  leading  part  in  the  assaults  on  his 
native  mountains.  The  Titlis  and  Monte 
Leone  were  first  climbed  by  local  monks. 
The  prior  of  the  St.  Bernard  made,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  remarkable  conquest  of  a  great  local 
peak;  and  five  years  later  M.  Clement,  the 
cure  of  Champery,  reached  the  summit  of 
the  Dent  du  Midi,  that  great  battlement  of 
rock  which  forms  a  background  to  the  eastern 
end  of  Lake  Geneva.  Bourrit,  as  we  shall 
see,  was  an  ecclesiastic  with  a  great  love  for 
the  snows.  Father  Placidus  a  Spescha  was 
the  pioneer  of  the  Todi ;  and  local  priests  played 
their  part  in  the  early  attempts  on  the  Matter- 
horn  from  Italy.  "  One  man,  one  mountain  " 
was  the  rule  of  many  an  early  pioneer;  but 
Murith's  love  of  the  snows  was  not  exhausted 
by  this  ascent  of  the  Velan.  He  had  already 
explored  the  Valsorey  glacier  with  Saussure, 
and  the  Otemma  glacier  with  Bourrit.  A  few 
years  after  his  conquest  of  the  Velan  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  fine  wall  of 
cliffs  that  binds  in  the  Orny  glacier  on  the 
south. 


54  THE  ALPS 

Bourrit,  who  wrote  up  Murith's  notes  on 
the  Velan,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
of  this  group  of  pioneers.  He  was  a  whole- 
hearted enthusiast,  and  the  first  man  who 
devoted  the  most  active  years  of  his  life  to 
mountaineering.  He  wins  our  affection  by 
the  readiness  with  which  he  gave  others  due 
credit  for  their  achievements,  a  generous 
characteristic  which  did  not,  however,  survive 
the  supreme  test — Paccard's  triumph  on 
Mont  Blanc.  Mountaineers  at  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century  formed  a  close  freema- 
sonry less  concerned  with  individual  achieve- 
ment than  with  the  furthering  of  common 
knowledge.  We  have  seen,  for  instance,  that 
De  Saussure  cared  little  who  made  the  first 
ascent  of  Mont  Blanc  provided  that  the  way 
was  opened  up  for  future  explorers.  Bourrit's 
actual  record  of  achievement  was  small.  His 
exploration  was  attended  with  little  success. 
His  best  performance  was  the  discovery,  or 
rediscovery  of  the  Col  de  G^ant.  His  great 
ambition,  the  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  failed. 
Fatigue,  or  mountain  sickness,  or  bad  weather, 
spoiled  his  more  ambitious  climbs.  But  this 
matters  little.  He  found  his  niche  in  Alpine 
history  rather  as  a  writer  than  as  a  moun- 
taineer. He  popularised  the  Alps.  He  was 
the  first  systematic  writer  of  Alpine  books,  a 
fact  which  earned  him  the  title,  "  Historian 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     55 

of  the  Alps,"  a  title  of  which  he  was  inordin- 
ately proud.  Best  of  all,  in  an  age  when 
mountain  appreciation  was  somewhat  rare,  he 
marked  himself  out  by  an  unbounded  enthu- 
siasm for  the  hills. 

He  was  bom  in  1735,  and  in  one  of  his 
memoirs  he  describes  the  moment  when  he 
first  heard  the  call  of  the  Alps  :  '*  It  was  from 
the  summit  of  the  Voirons  that  the  view  of 
the  Alps  kindled  my  desire  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  them.  No  one  could  give  me 
any  information  about  them  except  that  they 
were  the  accursed  mountains,  frightful  to  look 
upon  and  uninhabited."  Bourrit  began  life 
as  a  miniature  painter.  A  good  many  of  his 
Alpine  water  colours  have  survived.  Though 
they  cannot  challenge  serious  comparison 
with  the  mountain  masterpieces  of  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries,  they  are 
not  without  a  certain  merit.  But  Bourrit 
would  not  have  become  famous  had  he  not 
deserted  the  brush  for  the  pen.  When  the 
Alps  claimed  him,  he  gave  up  miniatures,  and 
accepted  an  appointment  as  Precentor  of 
Geneva  Cathedral,  a  position  which  allowed 
him  great  leisure  for  climbing.  He  used  to 
climb  in  the  summer,  and  write  up  his  journeys 
in  the  winter.  He  soon  compiled  a  formidable 
list  of  books,  and  was  hailed  throughout 
Europe  as  the  Historian  of  the  Alps.    There 


56  THE  ALPS 

was  no  absurd  modesty  about  Bourrit.  He 
accepted  the  position  with  serene  dignity. 
His  house,  he  tells  us,  is  "  embellished  with 
beautiful  acacias,  planned  for  the  comfort 
and  convenience  of  strangers  who  do  not 
wish  to  leave  Geneva  without  visiting  the 
Historian  of  the  Alps."  He  tells  us  that 
Prince  Henry  of  Prussia,  acting  on  the  advice 
of  Frederick  the  Great,  honoured  him  with  a 
visit.  Bourrit,  in  fact,  received  recognition 
in  many  distinguished  quarters.  The  Princess 
Louise  of  Prussia  sent  him  an  engraving  to 
recall  "  a  woman  whom  you  have  to  some 
extent  taught  to  share  your  lofty  sentiments." 
Bourrit  was  always  popular  with  the  ladies, 
and  no  climber  has  shown  a  more  generous 
appreciation  for  the  sex.  "  The  sex  is  very 
beautiful  here,"  became,  as  Mr.  Gribble  tells 
us,  "  a  formula  with  him  as  soon  as  he  began 
writing  and  continued  a  formula  after  he  had 
passed  his  threescore  years  and  ten." 

We  have  said  that  Bourrit's  actual  record 
as  a  climber  is  rather  disappointing.  We 
may  forget  this,  and  remember  only  his 
whole-hearted  devotion  to  the  mountains. 
Even  Gesner,  Petrarch,  and  Marti  seem 
balanced  and  cold  when  they  set  their  tributes 
besides  Bourrit's  large  enthusiasm.  Bourrit 
did  not  carry  a  barometer  with  him  on  his 
travels.     He  did  not  feel  the  need  to  justify 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     57 

his  wanderings  by  collecting  a  mass  of  scientific 
data.  Nor  did  he  assume  that  a  mountain 
tour  should  be  written  up  as  a  mere  guide- 
book record  of  times  and  route.  He  is 
supremely  concerned  with  the  ennobling  effect 
of  mountain  scenery  on  the  human  mind. 

"  At  Chamounix,"  he  writes,  "  I  have  seen 
persons  of  every  party  in  the  state,  who 
imagined  that  they  loathed  each  other,  never- 
theless treating  one  another  with  courtesy, 
and  even  walking  together.  Returning  to 
Geneva,  and  encountering  the  reproaches  of 
their  various  friends,  they  merely  answered 
in  their  defence,  '  Go,  as  we  have  gone,  to 
the  Montanvert,  and  take  our  share  of  the 
pure  air  that  is  to  be  breathed  there;  look 
thence  at  the  unfamiliar  beauties  of  Nature; 
contemplate  from  that  terrace  the  greatness 
of  natural  objects  and  the  littleness  of  man; 
and  you  will  no  longer  be  astonished  that 
Nature  has  enabled  us  to  subdue  our  passions.' 
It  is,  in  fact,  the  mountains  that  many  men 
have  to  thank  for  their  reconciliation  with 
their  fellows,  and  with  the  human  race;  and 
it  is  there  that  the  rulers  of  the  world  and  the 
heads  of  the  nations  ought  to  hold  their 
meetings.  Raised  thus  above  the  arena  of 
passions  and  petty  interests,  and  placed  more 
immediately  under  the  influence  of  Divine 
inspiration,  one  would  see  them  descend  from 


58  THE  ALPS 

these  mountains,  each  Hke  a  new  Moses 
bringing  with  them  codes  of  law  based  upon 
equity  and  justice." 

This  is  fine  writing  with  a  vengeance,  just 
as  Ruskin's  greatest  passages  are  fine  writing. 
Before  we  take  our  leave  of  Boiurit,  let  us  see 
the  precentor  of  the  cathedral  exhorting  a 
company  of  guides  with  sacerdotal  dignity. 
One  is  irresistibly  reminded  of  Japan,  where 
mountaineering  and  sacrificial  rites  go  hand 
in  hand — 

"  The  Historian  of  the  Alps,  in  rendering 
them  this  justice  in  the  presence  of  a  great 
throng  of  people,  seized  the  opportunity 
of  exhorting  the  new  guides  to  observe  the 
virtues  proper  to  their  state  in  life.  '  Put 
yourselves,'  he  said  to  them,  '  in  the  place  of 
the  strangers,  who  come  from  the  most  distant 
lands  to  admire  the  marvels  of  Nature  under 
these  wild  and  savage  aspects ;  and  justify  the 
confidence  which  they  repose  in  you.  You 
have  learnt  the  great  part  which  these  magni- 
ficent objects  of  our  contemplation  play  in 
the  organisation  of  the  world ;  and,  in  pointing 
out  their  various  phenomena  to  their  aston- 
ished eyes,  you  will  rejoice  to  see  people  raise 
their  thoughts  to  the  omnipotence  of  the 
Great  Being  who  created  them.'  The  speaker 
was   profoundly   moved   by  the   ideas   with 


THE  OPENING  UP  OF  THE  ALPS     59 

which  the  subject  inspired  him,  and  it  was 
impcMssible  for  his  listeners  not  to  share  in  his 
emotion." 

Let  us  remember  that  Bourrit  put  his 
doctrine  into  practice.  He  has  told  us  that 
he  found  men  of  diverse  creeds  reconciled 
beneath  the  shadow  of  Mont  Blanc.  Bourrit 
himself  was  a  mountaineer  first,  and  an 
ecclesiastic  second.  Perhaps  he  was  no 
worse  as  a  Protestant  precentor  because  the 
mountains  had  taught  him  their  eternal 
lessons  of  tolerance  and  serene  indifference 
to  the  petty  issues  which  loom  so  large  be- 
neatb  the  shadow  of  the  cathedral.  Catholic 
or  Protestant  it  was  all  the  same  to  our  good 
precentor,  provided  the  man  loved  the  hills. 
Prior  Murith  was  his  friend;  and  every 
Catholic  mountaineer  should  be  grateful  to 
his  memory,  for  he  persuaded  one  of  their 
archbishops  to  dispense  climbers  from  the 
obligation  of  fasting  in  Lent. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  STOEY  OF  MONT  BLANe 

The  history  of  Mont  Blanc  has  been  made 
the  subject  of  an  excellent  monograph,  and 
the  reader  who  wishes  to  supplement  the 
brief  sketch  which  is  all  that  we  can  attempt 
should  buy  The  Annals  of  Mont  Blanc,  by 
Mr.  C.  E.  Mathews.  We  have  already  seen 
that  De  Saussure  offered  a  reward  in  1760  to 
any  peasant  who  could  find  a  way  to  the 
summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  In  the  quarter-of-a- 
century  that  followed,  several  attempts  were 
made.  Amongst  others,  Bourrit  tried  on  two 
occasions  to  prove  the  accessibility  of  Mont 
Blanc.  Bourrit  himself  never  reached  a 
greater  height  than  10,000  feet;  but  some 
of  his  companions  attained  the  very  respect- 
able altitude  of  14,300  feet.  De  Saussure 
attacked  the  mountain  without  success  in 
1785,  leaving  the  stage  ready  for  the  entrance 
of  the  most  theatrical  of  mountaineers. 

Jacques  Balmat,  the  hero  of  Mont  Blanc, 
impresses  himself  upon  the  imagination  as 
no  other  climber  of  the  day.  He  owes  his 
60 


<fflOQ 


d 


62  THE  ALPS 

fame  mainly,  of  course,  to  his  great  triumph, 
but  also,  not  a  little,  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
interviewed  by  Alexandre  Dumas  the  Elder, 
who  immortalised  him  in  Impressions  de 
Voyage.  For  the  moment,  we  shall  not 
bother  to  criticise  its  accuracy.  We  know 
that  Balmat  reached  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc;  and  that  outstanding  fact  is  about 
the  only  positive  contribution  to  the  story 
which  has  not  been  riddled  with  destructive 
criticism.  The  story  should  be  read  in  the 
original,  though  Dumas'  vigorous  French  loses 
little  in  Mr.  Cribble's  spirited  translation 
from  which  I  shall  borrow. 

Dumas  visited  Chamounix  in  1883.  Balmat 
was  then  a  veteran,  and,  of  course,  the  great 
person  of  the  valley.  Dumas  lost  no  time  in 
making  his  acquaintance.  We  see  them  sit- 
ting together  over  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  we 
can  picture  for  ourselves  the  subtle  art  with 
which  the  great  interviewer  drew  out  the  old 
guide.     But  Bahnat  shall  tell  his  own  story — 

*'  H'm.  Let  me  see.  It  was  in  1786.  I 
was  five-and-twenty ;  that  makes  me  seventy- 
two  to-day.  What  a  fellow  I  was  !  With  the 
devil's  own  calves  and  hell's  own  stomach. 
I  could  have  gone  three  days  without  bite  or 
sup.  I  had  to  do  so  once  when  I  got  lost  on 
the  Buet.     I  just  mimched  a  Uttle  snow,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT   BLANC      68 

that  was  all.  And  from  time  to  time  I  looked 
across  at  Mont  Blanc  saying,  *  Say  what  you 
like,  my  beauty,  and  do  what  you  like.  Some 
day  I  shall  climb  you.'  " 

Balmat  then  tells  us  how  he  persuaded  his 
wife  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  collect  crystals. 
He  climbed  steadily  throughout  the  day,  and 
night  found  him  on  a  great  snowfield  some- 
where near  the  Grand  Plateau.  The  situation 
was  sufficiently  serious.  To  be  benighted  on 
Mont  Blanc  is  a  fate  which  would  terrify  a 
modern  climber,  even  if  he  were  one  of  a  large 
party.  Balmat  was  alone,  and  the  mental 
strain  of  a  night  alone  on  a  glacier  can  only 
be  understood  by  those  who  have  felt  the 
uncanny  terror  that  often  attacks  the  solitary 
wanderer  even  in  the  daytime.  Fortunately, 
Balmat  does  not  seem  to  have  been  bothered 
with  nerves.  His  fears  expressed  themselves 
in  tangible  shape. 

"  Presently  the  moon  rose  pale  and  encircled 
by  clouds,  which  hid  it  altogether  at  about 
eleven  o'clock.  At  the  same  time  a  rascally 
mist  came  on  from  the  Aiguille  du  Gouter, 
which  had  no  sooner  reached  me  than  it  began 
to  spit  snow  in  my  face.  Then  I  wrapped  my 
head  in  my  handkerchief,  and  said :  '  Fire 
away.    You're  not  hurting  me.'    At  every 


64  THE  ALPS 

instant  I  heard  the  falHng  avalanches  making 
a  noise  Hke  thunder.  The  glaciers  split,  and 
at  every  split  I  felt  the  mountain  move.  I 
was  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty ;  and  I  had  an 
extraordinary  headache  which  took  me  at 
the  crown  of  the  skull,  and  worked  its  way 
down  to  the  eyelids.  All  this  time,  the  mist 
never  lifted.  My  breath  had  frozen  on  my 
handkerchief ;  the  snow  had  made  my  clothes 
wet;  I  felt  as  if  I  were  naked.  Then  I  re- 
doubled the  rapidity  of  my  movements,  and 
began  to  sing,  in  order  to  drive  away  the 
foolish  thoughts  that  came  into  my  head.  My 
voice  was  lost  in  the  snow;  no  echo  answered 
me.  I  held  my  tongue,  and  was  afraid.  At 
two  o'clock  the  sky  paled  towards  the  east. 
With  the  first  beams  of  day,  I  felt  my  courage 
coming  back  to  me.  The  sun  rose,  battling 
with  the  clouds  which  covered  the  mountain 
top ;  my  hope  was  that  it  would  scatter  them ; 
but  at  about  four  o'clock  the  clouds  got 
denser,  and  I  recognised  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  me  just  then  to  go  any  further." 

He  spent  a  second  night  on  the  mountain, 
which  was,  on  the  whole,  more  comfortable 
than  the  first,  as  he  passed  it  on  the  rocks  of 
the  Montague  de  la  C6te.  Before  he  returned 
home,  Balmat  planned  a  way  to  the  summit. 
And  now  comes  the  most  amazing  part  of  the 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    65 

story.  He  had  no  sooner  returned  home  than 
he  met  three  men  starting  off  for  the  mountain. 
A  modern  mountaineer,  who  had  spent  two 
nights,  alone,  high  up  on  Mont  Blanc,  would 
consider  himself  lucky  to  reach  Chamounix 
alive ;  once  there,  he  would  go  straight  to  bed 
for  some  twenty-four  hours.  But  Balmat  was 
built  of  iron.  He  calmly  proposed  to  accom- 
pany his  friends;  and,  having  changed  his 
stockings,  he  started  out  again  for  the  great 
mountain,  on  which  he  had  spent  the  previous 
two  nights.  The  party  consisted  of  Fran9ois 
Paccard,  Joseph  Carrier,  and  Jean  Michel 
Tournier.  They  slept  on  the  mountain;  and 
next  morning  they  were  joined  by  two  other 
guides,  Pierre  Balmat  and  Marie  Couttet. 
They  did  not  get  very  far,  and  soon  turned 
back — all  save  Balmat.  Balmat,  who  seems 
to  have  positively  enjoyed  his  nights  on  the 
glacier,  stayed  behind. 

"  I  laid  my  knapsack  on  the  snow,  drew 
my  handkerchief  over  my  face  like  a  curtain, 
and  made  the  best  preparations  that  I  could 
for  passing  a  night  like  the  previous  one. 
However,  as  I  was  about  two  thousand  feet 
higher,  the  cold  was  more  intense;  a  fine 
powdery  snow  froze  me;  I  felt  a  heaviness 
and  an  irresistible  desire  to  sleep;  thoughts, 
sad  as  death,  came  into  my  mind,  and  I  knew 


66  THE  ALPS 

well  that  these  sad  thoughts  and  this  desire 
to  sleep  were  a  bad  sign,  and  that  if  I  had 
the  misfortune  to  close  my  eyes  I  should 
never  open  them  again.  From  the  place 
where  I  was,  I  saw,  ten  thousand  feet  below 
me,  the  lights  of  Chamounix,  where  my  com- 
rades were  warm  and  tranquil  by  their  fire- 
sides or  in  their  beds.  I  said  to  myself : 
'  Perhaps  there  is  not  a  man  among  them 
who  gives  a  thought  to  me.  Or,  if  there 
is  one  of  them  who  thinks  of  Balmat,  no 
doubt  he  pokes  his  fire  into  a  blaze,  or  draws 
his  blanket  over  his  ears,  saying,  '  That  ass  of 
a  Jacques  is  wearing  out  his  shoe  leather. 
Courage,  Balmat  I '  " 

Balmat  may  have  been,  a  braggart,  but  it 
is  sometimes  forgotten  by  his  critics  that  he 
had  something  to  brag  about.  Even  if  he 
had  never  climbed  Mont  Blanc,  this  achieve- 
ment would  have  gone  down  to  history  as 
perhaps  the  boldest  of  all  Alpine  adventures. 
To  sleep  one  night,  alone,  above  the  snow  line 
is  a  misfortune  that  has  befallen  many 
climbers.  Some  have  died,  and  others  have 
returned,  thankful.  One  may  safely  say  that 
no  man  has  started  out  for  the  same  peak, 
and  willingly  spent  a  third  night  under  even 
worse  conditions  than  the  first.  Three  nights 
out  of  four  in  all.     We  are  charitably  assum- 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    67 

ing  that  this  part  of  Balmat's  story  is  true. 
There  is  at  least  no  evidence  to  the  contrary. 

Naturally  enough,  Balmat  did  not  prose- 
cute the  attempt  at  once.  He  returned  to 
Chamounix,  and  sought  out  the  local  doctor, 
Michel  Paccard.  Paccard  agreed  to  accom; 
pajiy  him.  They  left  Chamounix  at  five  in 
the  evening,  and  slept  on  the  top  of  the 
Montagne  de  la  C6te.  They  started  next 
morning  at  two  o'clock.  According  to  Bal- 
mat's account,  the  doctor  played  a  sorry 
part  in  the  day's  climb.  It  was  only  by  some 
violent  encouragement  that  he  was  induced 
to  proceed  at  all. 

"  After  I  had  exhausted  all  my  eloquence, 
and  saw  that  I  was  only  losing  my  time,  I 
told  him  to  keep  moving  about  as  best  he 
could.  He  heard  without  understanding,  and 
kept  answering  '  Yes,  yes,'  in  order  to  get  rid 
of  me.  I  perceived  that  he  must  be  suffering 
from  cold.'  So  I  left  him  the  bottle,  and  set 
off  alone,  telling  him  that  I  would  come  back 
and  look  for  him.  'Yes,  yes,'  he  answered. 
I  advised  him  not  to  sit  still,  and  started  off. 
I  had  not  gone  thirty  steps  before  I  turned 
round  and  saw  that,  instead  of  running  about 
and  stamping  his  feet,  he  had  sat  down,  with 
his  back  to  the  wind — a  precaution  of  a  sort. 
From  that  minute  onwards,  the  track  presented 


68  THE  ALPS 

no  great  difficulty;  but,  as  I  rose  higher  and 
higher,  the  air  became  more  and  more  unfit 
to  breathe.  Every  few  steps,  I  had  to  stop 
like  a  man  in  a  consumption.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  had  no  lungs  left,  and  that  my  chest 
was  hollow.  Then  I  folded  my  handkerchief 
like  a  scarf,  tied  it  over  my  mouth  and  breathed 
through  it;  and  that  gave  me  a  little  relief. 
However,  the  cold  gripped  me  more  and  more ; 
it  took  me  an  hour  to  go  a  quarter  of  a  league. 
I  looked  down  as  I  walked ;  but,  finding  myself 
in  a  spot  which  I  did  not  recognise,  I  raised 
my  eyes,  and  saw  that  I  had  at  last  reached 
the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc. 

"  Then  I  looked  around  me,  fearing  to  find 
that  I  was  mistaken,  and  to  catch  sight  of 
some  aiguille  or  some  fresh  point  above  me; 
if  there  had  been,  I  should  not  have  had  the 
strength  to  climb  it.  For  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  joints  of  my  legs  were  only  held  in  their 
proper  place  by  my  breeches.  But  no — it  was 
not  so.  I  had  reached  the  end  of  my  journey. 
I  had  come  to  a  place  where  no  one — where 
not  the  eagle  or  the  chamois — had  ever  been 
before  me.  I  had  got  there,  alone,  without 
any  other  help  than  that  of  my  own  strength 
and  my  own  will.  Everything  that  surrounded 
me  seemed  to  be  my  property.  I  was  the 
King  of  Mont  Blanc — ^the  statue  of  this 
tremendous  pedestal. 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    69 

"  Then  I  turned  towards  Chamounix,  wav- 
ing my  hat  at  the  end  of  my  stick,  and  saw, 
by  the  help  of  my  glass,  that  my  signals  were 
being  answered." 

Balmat  returned,  found  the  doctor  in  a 
dazed  condition,  and  piloted  him  to  the  sum- 
mit, which  they  reached  shortly  after  six 
o'clock. 

"  It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening;  we 
had  only  two-and-a-half  hours  of  daylight 
left;  we  had  to  go.  I  took  Paccard  by  the 
arm,  and  once  more  waved  my  hat  as  a  last 
signal  to  our  friends  in  the  valley;  and  the 
descent  began.  There  was  no  track  to  guide 
us;  the  wind  was  so  cold  that  even  the  snow 
on  the  surface  had  not  thawed;  all  that  we 
could  see  on  the  ice  was  the  little  holes  made 
by  the  iron  points  of  our  stick.  Paccard  was 
no  better  than  a  child,  devoid  of  energy  and 
will-power,  whom  I  had  to  guide  in  the  easy 
places  and  carry  in  the  hard  ones.  Night  was 
already  beginning  to  fall  when  we  crossed  the 
crevasse;  it  finally  overtook  us  at  the  foot 
of  the  Grand  Plateau.  At  every  instant, 
Paccard  stopped,  declaring  that  he  could  go 
no  further;  at  every  halt,  I  obliged  him  to 
resume  his  march,  not  by  persuasion,  for  he 
understood  nothing  but  force.     At  eleven,  we 


70  THE  ALPS 

at  last  escaped  from  the  regions  of  ice,  and 
set  foot  upon  terra  firma;  the  last  afterglow 
of  the  sunset  had  disappeared  an  hour  before. 
Then  I  allowed  Paccard  to  stop,  and  prepared 
to  wrap  him  up  again  in  the  blanket,  when  I 
perceived  that  he  was  making  no  use  whatever 
of  his  hands.  I  drew  his  attention  to  the 
fact.  He  answered  that  that  was  likely 
enough,  as  he  no  longer  had  any  sensation  in 
them.  I  drew  off  his  gloves,  and  found  that 
his  hands  were  white  and,  as  it  were,  dead; 
for  my  own  part,  I  felt  a  numbness  in  the  hand 
on  which  I  wore  his  little  glove  in  place  of 
my  own  thick  one.  I  told  him  we  had  three 
frost-bitten  hands  between  us ;  but  he  seemed 
not  to  mind  in  the  least,  and  only  wanted  to 
lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  As  for  myself, 
however,  he  told  me  to  rub  the  affected  part 
with  snow,  and  the  remedy  was  not  far  to 
seek.  I  commenced  operations  upon  him  and 
concluded  them  upon  myself.  Soon  the  blood 
resumed  its  course,  and  with  the  blood,  the 
heat  returned,  but  accompanied  by  acute 
pain,  as  though  every  vein  were  being  pricked 
with  needles.  I  wrapped  my  baby  up  in  his 
blanket,  and  put  him  to  bed  under  the  shelter 
of  a  rock.  We  ate  a  little,  drank  a  glass  of 
something,  squeezed  ourselves  as  close  to 
each  other  as  we  could,  and  went  to  sleep. 
*'  At  six  the  next  morning  Paccard  awoke 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    71 

me.  *  It's  strange,  Balmat,'  he  said,  '  I  hear 
the  birds  singing,  and  don't  see  the  dayhght. 
I  suppose  I  can't  open  my  eyes.'  Observe 
that  his  eyes  were  as  wide  open  as  the  Grand 
Duke's.  I  told  him  he  must  be  mistaken,  and 
could  see  quite  well.  Then  he  asked  me  to 
give  him  a  little  snow,  melted  it  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand,  and  rubbed  his  eyelids  with  it. 
When  this  was  done,  he  could  see  no  better 
than  before;  only  his  eyes  hurt  him  a  great 
deal  more.  *  Come  now,  it  seems  that  I  am 
blind,  Balmat.  How  am  I  to  get  down  ?  '  he 
continued.  '  Take  hold  of  the  strap  of  my 
knapsack  and  walk  behind  me;  that's  what 
you  must  do.'  And  in  this  style  we  came 
down,  and  reached  the  village  of  La  C6te. 
There,  as  I  feared  that  my  wife  would  be 
uneasy  about  me,  I  left  the  doctor,  who 
found  his  way  home  by  fumbling  with  his 
stick,  and  returned  to  my  own  house.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  I  saw  what  I  looked  like. 
I  was  unrecognisable.  My  eyes  were  red ;  my 
face  was  black ;  my  lips  were  blue.  Whenever 
I  laughed  or  yawned,  the  blood  spurted  from 
my  lii>s  and  cheeks;  and  I  could  only  see  in 
a  dark  room." 

"  *  And  did  Dr.  Paccard  continue  blind  ?  ' 
*  Blind,  indeed  !  He  died  eleven  months  ago, 
at  the  age  of  seventy-nine,  and  could  still 
read  without  spectacles.     Only  his  eyes  were 


72  THE  ALPS 

diabolically  red.'  '  As  the  consequence  of  his 
ascent?  '  '  Not  a  bit  of  it.'  '  Why,  then?  ' 
'  The  old  boy  was  a  bit  of  a  tippler.'  And 
90  saying  Jacques  Balmat  emptied  his  third 
bottle." 

'  The  last  touch  is  worthy  of  Dumas ;  and  the 
whole  story  is  told  in  the  Ercles  vein.  As 
literature  it  is  none  the  worse  for  that.  It 
was  a  magnificent  achievement;  and  we  can 
pardon  the  vanity  of  the  old  guide  looking 
back  on  the  greatest  moment  of  his  life.  But 
as  history  the  interview  is  of  little  value. 
The  combination  of  Dumas  and  Balmat  was 
a  trifle  too  strong  for  what  Clough  calls  "  the 
mere  it  was."  The  dramatic  unities  tempt  one 
to  leave  Balmat,  emptying  his  third  bottle, 
and  to  allow  the  merry  epic  to  stand  un- 
challenged. But  the  importance  of  this  first 
ascent  forces  one  to  sacrifice  romance  for  the 
sober  facts. 

The  truth  about  that  first  ascent  had  to 
wait  more  than  a  hundred  years.  The  final 
solution  is  due,  in  the  main,  to  three  men, 
Dr.  Diibi  (the  famous  Swiss  mountaineer), 
Mr.  Freshfield,  and  Mr.  Montagnier.  Dr. 
Diibi's  book,  Paccard  wider  Balmat,  oder  Die 
Entwicklung  einer  Legende,  gives  the  last  word 
on  this  famous  case.  For  a  convenient  sum- 
mary of  Dr.  Diibi's  arguments,   the  reader 


THE   STORY  OF  MONT   BLANC     73 

should  consult  Mr.  Freshfield's  excellent  re- 
view of  his  book  that  appeared  in  the  Alpine 
Journal  for  May  1913.  The  essential  facts  are 
as  follows.  Dr.  Diibi  has  been  enabled  to 
produce  a  diary  of  an  eye-witness  of  the  great 
ascent.  A  distinguished  German  traveller, 
Baron  von  Gersdorf,  watched  Balmat  and 
Paccard  through  a  telescope,  made  careful 
notes,  illustrated  by  diagrams  of  the  route, 
and,  at  the  request  of  Paccard's  father,  a 
notary  of  Chamounix,  signed,  with  his  friend 
Von  Meyer,  a  certificate  of  what  he  had  seen. 
This  certificate  is  still  preserved  at  Chamounix, 
and  Von  Gersdorf  s  diary  and  correspondence 
have  recently  been  discovered  at  Gorlitz. 
Here  is  the  vital  sentence  in  his  diary,  as 
translated  by  Mr.  Freshfield :  *'  They  started 
again  [from  the  Petits  Rochers  Rouges],  at 
5.45  p.m., 'halted  for  a  moment  about  every 
hundred  yards,  changed  occasionally  the  leader- 
ship [the  italics  are  mine],  at  6.12  p.m.  gained 
two  rocks  protruding  from  the  snow,  and  at 
6.23  p.m.  were  on  the  actual  summit."  The 
words  italicised  prove  that  Balmat  did  not 
lead  throughout.  The  remainder  of  the 
sentence  shows  that  Balmat  was  not  the  first 
to  arrive  on  the  summit,  and  that  the  whole 
fabric  of  the  Dumas  legend  is  entirely  false. 

But  Dumas  was  not  alone  responsible  for 
the  Balmat  myth.  i.  This  famous  fiction  was. 


74  THE  ALPS 

in  the  main,  due  to  a  well-known  Alpine  char- 
acter, whom  we  have  dealt  with  at  length  in 
our  third  chapter.  The  reader  may  remember 
that  Bourrit's  enthusiasm  for  mountaineering 
was  only  equalled  by  his  lack  of  success.  We 
have  seen  that  Bourrit  had  set  his  heart  on 
the  conquest  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  that  Bourrit 
failed  in  this  ambition,  both  before,  and  after 
Balmat's  ascent.  In  many  ways,  Bourrit  was 
a  great  man.  He  was  fired  with  an  undaunted 
enthusiasm  for  the  Alps  at  a  time  when  such 
enthusiasm  was  the  hall-mark  of  a  select 
circle.  He  justly  earned  his  title,  the  Historian 
of  the  Alps;  and  in  his  earlier  years  he  was 
by  no  means  ungenerous  to  more  fortunate 
climbers.  But  this  great  failing,  an  inordin- 
ate vanity,  grew  with  years.  He  could  just 
manage  to  forgive  Balmat,  for  Balmat  was  a 
guide;  but  Paccard,  the  amateur,  had  com- 
mitted the  unforgivable  offence. 

It  was  no  use  pretending  that  Paccard  had 
not  climbed  Mont  Blanc,  for  Paccard  had  been 
seen  on  the  summit.  Bourrit  took  the  only 
available  course.  He  was  determined  to 
injure  Paccard's  prospects  of  finding  sub- 
scribers for  a  work  which  the  doctor  proposed 
to  publish,  dealing  with  his  famous  climb. 
With  this  in  view,  Bourrit  wrote  the  notorious 
letter  of  September  20,  1786,  which  first 
appeared  as  a  pamphlet,  and  wasjater  pub- 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    75 

lished  in  several  papers.  We  need  not  repro- 
duce the  letter.  The  main  points  which 
Bourrit  endeavoured  to  make  were  that  the 
doctor  failed  at  the  critical  stage  of  the 
ascent,  that  Balmat  left  him,  reached  the  top, 
and  returned  to  insist  on  Paccard  dragging 
himself  somehow  to  the  summit ;  that  Paccard 
wished  to  exploit  Balmat' s  achievements,  and 
was  posing  as  the  conqueror  of  Mont  Blanc; 
that,  with  this  in  view,  he  was  appealing  for 
subscribers  for  a  book,  in  which,  presumably, 
Balmat  would  be  ignored,  while  poor  Balmat, 
a  simple  peasant,  who  knew  nothing  of  Press 
advertisement,  would  lose  the  glory  that  was 
his  just  meed.  It  was  a  touching  picture; 
and  we,  who  know  the  real  Balmat  as  a  genial 
blageur,  may  smile  gently  when  we  hear  him 
described  as  le  pauvre  Balmat  d  qui  Von 
doit  cette  dicouverte  reste  presque  ignorS,  et 
ignore  quHl  y  ait  des  journalistes,  des  journaua;, 
et  que  Von  puisse  par  le  moyen  de  ces  trompettes 
littSraires  obtenir  du  Public  une  sorte  d^ admira- 
tion. De  Saussure,  who  from  the  first  gave 
Paccard  due  credit  for  his  share  in  the  climb, 
seems  to  have  warned  Bourrit  that  he  was 
making  a  fool  of  himself.  Bourrit  appears  to 
have  been  impressed,  for  he  added  a  postscript 
in  which  he  toned  down  some  of  his  remarks, 
and  conceded  grudgingly  that  Paccard's  share 
in  the  ascent  was,  perhaps,  larger  than  he  had 


76  THE   ALPS 

at  first  imagined.  But  this  relapse  into  decent 
behaviour  did  not  survive  an  anonymous  reply 
to  his  original  pamphlet  which  appeared  in 
the  Journal  de  Lausanne,  on  February  24, 
1787.  This  reply  gave  Paccard's  story,  and 
stung  Bourrit  into  a  reply  which  was  nothing 
better  than  a  malicious  jEalsehood.  "  Balmat's 
story,"  he  wrote,  "  seems  very  natural  .  .  . 
and  is  further  confirmed  by  an  eye-witness, 
M.  le  Baron  de  Gersdorf,  who  watched  the 
climbers  through  his  glasses ;  and  this  stranger 
was  so  shocked  by  the  indifference  (to  use 
no  stronger  word)  shown  by  M.  Paccard  to 
his  companion  that  he  reprinted  my  letter  in 
his  own  country,  in  order  to  start  a  subscrip- 
tion in  favour  of  poor  Balmat." 

Fortunately,  we  now  know  what  Gersdorf 
saw  through  his  glasses,  and  we  also  know 
that  Gersdorf  wrote  immediately  to  Paccard, 
"  disclaiming  altogether  the  motive  assigned 
for  his  action  in  raising  a  subscription." 
Paccard  was  fortunately  able  to  publish  two 
very  effective  replies  to  this  spiteful  attack. 
In  the  Journal  de  Lausanne  for  May  18  he 
reproduced  two  affidavits  by  Balmat,  both 
properly  attested.  These  ascribe  to  Paccard 
the  honour  of  planning  the  expedition,  and 
his  full  share  of  the  work,  and  also  state  that 
Balmat  had  been  paid  for  acting  as  guide. 
The  first  of  these  documents  has  disappeared. 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    77 

The  second,  which  is  entirely  in  Balmat's  hand- 
writing, is  still  in  existence.  Balmat,  later  in 
life,  made  some  ridiculous  attempt  to  suggest 
that  he  had  signed  a  blank  piece  of  paper; 
but  the  fact  that  even  Bourrit  seems  to  have 
considered  this  statement  a  trifle  too  absurd 
to  quote  is  in  itself  enough  to  render .  such 
a  protest  negligible.  Besides,  Balmat  was 
shrewd  enough  not  to  swear  before  witnesses 
to  a  document  which  he  had  never  seen.  It 
is  almost  pleasant  to  record  that  a  dispute 
between  the  doctor  and  Balmat,  in  the  high 
street  of  Chamounix,  resulted  in  Balmat 
receiving  a  well-merited  blow  on  his  nose 
from  the  doctor's  umbrella,  which  laid  him 
in  the  dust.  It  is  in  some  ways  a  pity  that 
Dumas  did  not  meet  Paccard.  The  incident 
of  the  umbrella  might  then  have  been  worked 
up  to  the  proper  epic  proportions. 

This  much  we  may  now  regard  as  proved. 
Paccard  took  at  least  an  equal  share  in  the 
great  expedition.  Balmat  was  engaged  as  a 
guide,  and  was  paid  as  such.  The  credit  for 
the  climb  must  be  divided  between  these  two 
men;  and  the  discredit  of  causing  strained 
relations  between  them  must  be  assigned  to 
Bourrit.  Meanwhile,  it  is  worth  adding  that 
the  traditions  of  the  De  Saussure  family  are 
all  in  favour  of  Balmat.  De  Saussure's 
grandson  stated  that  Balmat's  sole  object  in 


78  THE  ALPS 

climbing  Mont  Blanc  was  the  hope  of  pecuniary 
gain.  He  even  added  that  the  main  reason 
for  his  final  attempt  with  Paccard  was  that 
Paccard,'  being  an  amateur,  would  not  claim 
half  the  reward  promised  by  De  Saussure. 
As  to  Paccard,  "  everything  we  know  of  him," 
writes  Mr.  Freshfield,  "  is  to  his  credit.  His 
scientific  attainments  were  undoubtedly  in- 
significant compared  to  a  Bonnet  or  a  De 
Saussure.  Yet  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Academy  of  Turin,  he  contributed  articles 
to  a  scientific  periodical  published  in  Paris, 
he  corresponded  with  De  Saussure  about  his 
barometrical  observations.  He  is  described  by 
a  visitor  to  Chamounix,  in  1788,  in  the  follow- 
ing terms  :  "  We  also  visited  Dr.  Paccard, 
who  gave  us  a  very  plain  and  modest  account 
of  his  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  for  which  bold 
undertaking  he  does  not  seem  to  assume  to 
himself  any  particular  merit,  but  asserts  that 
any  one  with  like  physical  powers  could  have 
performed  the  task  equally  well.'*  De  Saus- 
sure's  grandson,  who  has  been  quoted  against 
Balmat,  is  equally  emphatic  in  his  approval 
of  Paccard.  Finally,  both  Dr.  Diibi  and 
Mr.  Freshfield  agree  that,  as  regards  the 
discovery  of  the  route :  "  Paccard  came  first 
into  the  field,  and  was  the  more  enterprising 
of  the  two." 
Bourrit,   by  the  way,  had  not  even  the 


THE   STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    79 

decency  to  be  consistent.  He  spoiled,  as  we 
have  seen,  poor  Paccard's  chances  of  obtaining 
subscribers  for  his  book,  and,  later  in  life,  he 
quarrelled  with  Balmat.  Von  Gersdorf  had 
started  a  collection  for  Balmat,  and  part  of 
the  money  had  to  pass  through  Bourrit's 
hands.  A  great  deal  of  it  remained  there. 
Bourrit  seems  to  have  been  temporarily  incon- 
venienced. We  need  not  believe  tha^he  had 
any  intention  of  retaining  the  money  perma- 
nently, but  Balmat  was  certainly  justified  in 
complaining  to  Von  Gersdorf.  Bourrit  re- 
ceived a  sharp  letter  from  Von  Gersdorf,  and 
never  forgave  Balmat.  In  one  of  his  later 
books,  he  reversed  his  earlier  judgment  and 
pronounced  in  favour  of  Paccard. 

Bourrit  discredited  himself  by  the  Mont 
Blanc  episode  with  the  more  discerning  of  his 
contemporaries.  De  Saussure  seems  to  have 
written  him  down,  judging  by  the  traditions 
that  have  survived  in. his  family.  Wytten- 
bach,  a  famous  Bernese  savant,  is  even  more 
emphatic.  "  All  who  know  him  realise  Bour- 
rit to  be  a  conceited  toad,  a  flighty  fool,  a 
bombastic  swaggerer."  Mr.  Freshfield,  how- 
ever, quotes  a  kinder  and  more  discriminating 
criticism  by  the  celebrated  Bonnet,  ending 
with  the  words  :  //  faut,  nSanmoinSy  lui  tenir 
compte  de  son  ardeur  et  de  son  courage, 
*'  With   these   words,"   says  Mr.   Freshfield, 


80  THE  ALPS 

"  let  us  leave  '  notre  Bourrit ' ;  for  by  his 
passion  for  the  mountains  he  remains  one 
of  us." 

Poor  Bourrit !  It  is  with  real  regret  that 
one  chronicles  the  old  precentor's  lapses. 
Unfortunately,  every  age  has  its  Bourrit,  but 
it  is  only  fair  to  remember  that  Bourrit  often 
showed  a  very  generous  appreciation  of  other 
climbers.  He  could  not  quite  forgive  Paccard. 
Let  us  remember  his  passion  for  the  snows. 
Let  us  forget  the  rest. 

It  is  pleasant  to  record  that  De  Saussure's 
old  ambition  was  gratified,  and  that  he 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc  in  July  1787.  Nor  is  this  his  only  great 
expedition.  He  camped  out  for  a  fortnight 
on  the  Col  de  Geant,  a  remarkable  performance. 
He  visited  Zermatt,  then  in  a  very  uncivilised 
condition,  and  made  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Petit  Mont  Cervin.     He  died  in  1799. 

As  for  Balmat,  he  became  a  guide,  and  in 
this  capacity  earned  a  very  fair  income. 
Having  accumulated  some  capital,  he  cast 
about  for  a  profitable  investment.  Two  per- 
fect strangers,  whom  he  met  on  the  high  road, 
solved  his  difficulty  in  a  manner  highly  satis- 
factory as  far  as  they  were  concerned.  They 
assured  him  that  they  were  bankers,  and 
that  they  would  pay  him  five  per  cent,  on  his 
capital.     The  first  of  these  statements  may 


THE  STORY  OF  MONT  BLANC    81 

have  been  true,  the  second  was  false.  He 
did  not  see  the  bankers  or  his  capital  again. 
Shortly  after  this  initiation  into  high  finance, 
he  left  Chamounix  to  search  for  a  mythical 
gold-mine  among  the  glaciers  of  the  valley 
of  Sixt.  He  disappeared  and  was  never  seen 
again.  He  left  a  family  of  four  sons,  two  of 
whom  were  killed  in  the  Napoleonic  wars. 
His  great-nephew  became  the  favourite  guide 
of  Mr.  Justice 'Wills,  with  whom  he  climbed 
the  Wetterhorn. . 


CHAPTER  V 

MONTE    KOSA    AND    THE    BUNDNER    OBEELANO 

The  conquest  of  Mont  Blanc  was  the  most 
important  mountaineering  achievement  of  the 
period;  but  good  work  was  also  being  done 
in  other  parts  of  the  Alps.  Monte  Rosa,  as 
we  soon  shall  see,  had  already  attracted  the 
adventurous,  and  the  Biindner  Oberland  gave 
one  great  name  to  the  story  of  Alpine  adven- 
ture. We  have  already  noted  the  important 
part  played  by  priests  in  the  conquest  of  the 
Alps;  and  Catholic  mountaineers  may  well 
honour  the  memory  o '  Placidus  a  Spescha  as 
one  of  the  greatest  of  the  climbing  priesthood. 

Father  Placidus  was  born  in  1782  at  Truns. 
As  a  boy  he  joined  the  Friars  of  Disentis,  and 
after  completing  his  education  at  Einsiedeln, 
where  he  made  good  use  of  an  excellent 
library,  returned  again  to  Disentis.  As  a 
small  boy,  he  had  tended  his  father's  flocks 
and  .acquired  a  passionate  love  for  the 
mountains  of  his  native  valley.  As  a  monk, 
he  resumed  the  hill  wanderings,  which  he 
continued  almost  to  the  close  of  a  long  life. 
82 


MONTE  ROSA  88 

He  was  an  unfortunate  man.  The  French 
Revolution  made  itself  felt  in  Graubiinden; 
and  with  the  destruction  of  the  monastery 
all  his  notes  and  manuscripts  were  burned. 
When  the  Austrians  ousted  the  French,  he  was 
even  more  luckless;  as  a  result  of  a  sermon 
on  the  text  "  Put  not  your  trust  in  princes  " 
he  was  imprisoned  in  Innsbruck  for  eighteen 
months.  He  came  back  only  to  be  persecuted 
afresh.  Throughout  his  life,  his  wide  learning 
and.  tolerant  outlook  invited  the  suspicion  of 
the  envious  and  narrow-minded;  and  on  his 
return  to  Graubiinden  he  was  accused  of 
heresy.  His  books  and  his  manuscripts  were 
confiscated,  and  he  was  forbidden  to  climb. 
After  a  succession  of  troubled  years,  he  returned 
to  Truns;  and  though  he  had  passed  his 
seventieth  year  he  still  continued  to  climb. 
As  late  as  1824,  he  made  two  attempts  on  the 
Todi.  On  his  last  attempt,  he  reached  a  gap, 
now  known  as  the  Porta  da  Spescha,  less  than 
a  thousand  feet  below  the  summit ;  and  from 
this  point  he  watched,  with  mixed  feelings, 
the  two  chamois  hunters  he  had  sent  forward 
reach  the  summit.  He  died  at  the  age  of 
eighty-two.  One  wishes  that  he  had  attained 
in  person  his  great  ambition,  the  conquest  of 
the  Todi;  but,  even  though  he  failed  on  this 
outstanding  peak,  he  had  several  good  per- 
formances to  his  credit,  amongst  others  the 


84  THE  ALPS 

first  ascent  of  the  Stockgron  (11,411  feet)  in 

1788,  the   Rheinwaldhom    (11,148    feet)    in 

1789,  the  Piz  Urlaun  (11,063  feet)  in  1793,  and 
numerous  other  important  cHmbs. 

His  Ust  of  ascents  is  long,  and  proves  a 
constant  devotion  to  the  hills  amongst  which 
he  passed  the  happiest  hours  of  an  unhappy 
Ufe.  "  Placidus  k  Spescha  " — there  was  little 
placid  in  his  life  save  the  cheerful  resignation 
with  which  he  faced  the  buffetings  of  fortune. 
He  was  a  learned  and  broad-minded  man ;  and 
the  mountains,  with  their  quiet  sanity,  seem 
to  have  helped  him  to  bear  constant  vexation 
caused  by  small-minded  persons.  These  sus- 
picions of  heresy  must  have  proved  very 
wearisome  to  "  the  mountaineer  who  missed 
his  way  and  strayed  into  the  Priesthood."  He 
must  have  felt  that  his  opponents  were, 
perhaps,  justified,  that  the  mountains  had 
given  him  an  interpretation  of  his  beliefs  that 
was,  perhaps,  wider  than  the  creed  of  Rome, 
and  that  he  himself  had  found  a  saner  outlook 
in  those  temples  of  a  larger  faith  to  which  he 
lifted  up  his  eyes  for  help.  As  a  relief  from 
a  hostile  and  unsympathetic  atmosphere,  let 
us  hope  that  he  discovered .  some  restful 
anodyne  among  the  tranquil  broadness  of  the 
upper  snows.  The  fatigue  and  difficulties  of 
long  mountain  tramps  exhaust  the  mind,  to 
the  exclusion  of  those  little  cares  which  seem 


MONTE   ROSA  85 

so  great  in  the  artificial  life  of  the  valley. 
Certainly,  the  serene  indifference  of  the  hills 
found  a  response  in  the  quiet  philosophy  of  his 
life.  Very  little  remains  of  all  that  he  must 
have  written,  very  little — only  a  few  words, 
in  which  he  summed  up  the  convictions  which 
life  had  given  him.  "  When  I  carefully  con- 
sider the  fortune  and  ill-fortune  that  have 
befallen  me,  I  have  difficulty  in  determining 
which  of  the  two  has  been  the  more  profitable 
since  a  man  without  trials  is  a  man  without 
experience,  and  such  a  one  is  without  insight 
— vexaiio  dat  intellectum.''^  A  brave  con- 
fession of  a  good  faith,  and  in  his  case  no  vain 
utterance,  but  the  sincere  summary  of  a 
philosophy  which  coloured  his  whole  outlook 
on  life. 

The  early  history  of  Monte  Rosa  has  an 
appeal  even  stronger  than  the  story  of  Mont 
Blanc.  It  begins  with  the  Renaissance.  From 
the  hills  around  Milan,  Leonardo  da  Vinci  had 
seen  the  faint  flush  of  dawn  on  Monte  Rosa 
beyond — 

A  thousand  shadowy  pencilled  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air. 

The  elusive  vision  had  provoked  his  restless, 
untiring  spirit  to  search  out  the  secrets  of 
Monte  Rosa.  The  results  of  that  expedition 
have  already  been  noticed. 


86  THE  ALPS 

After  Da  Vinci  there  is  a  long  gap. 
Scheuchzer  had  heard  of  Monte  Rosa,  but 
contents  himself  with  the  illuminating  remark 
that  "  a  stiff  accumulation  of  perpetual  ice  is 
attached  to  it."  De  Saussure  visited  Macu- 
nagna  in  1789,  but  disliked  the  inhabitants 
and  complained  of  their  inhospitality.  He 
passed  on,  after  climbing  an  unimportant 
snow  peak,  the  Pizzo  Bianco  (10,552  feet). 
His  story  is  chiefly  interesting  for  an  allusion 
to  one  of  the  finest  of  the  early  Alpine  expedi- 
tions. In  recent  years,  a  manuscript  con- 
taining a  detailed  account  of  this  climb  has 
come  to  light,  and  supplements  the  vague 
story  which  De  Saussure  had  heard. 

Long  ago,  in  the  Italian  valleys  of  Monte 
Rosa,  there  was  a  legend  of  a  happy  valley, 
hidden  away  between  the  glaciers  of  the  great 
chain.  In  this  secret  and  magic  vale,  the 
flowers  bloomed  even  in  winter,  and  the 
chamois  found  grazing  when  less  happy 
pastures  were  buried  by  the  snow.  .  So  ran 
the  tale,  which  the  mothers  of  Alagna  and 
Gressoney  told  to  their  children.  The  dis- 
covery of  the  happy  valley  was  due  to  Jean 
Joseph  Beck.  Beck  was  a  domestic  servant 
with  the  soul  of  a  pioneer,  and  the  organising 
talent  that  makes  for  success.  He  had  heard 
a  nunour  that  a  few  men  from  Alagna  had 
determmed  to  find  the  valley.     Beck  was  a 


MONTE  ROSA  87 

Gressoney  man;  and  he  determined  that 
Gressoney  should  have  the  honour  of  the 
discovery.  Again  and  again,  in  Alpine  his- 
tory, we  find  this  rivalry  between  adjoining 
valleys  acting  as  an  incentive  of  great  ascents. 
Beck  collected  a  large  party,  including  "  a 
man  of  learning,"  by  name  Finzens  (Vincent). 
With  due  secrecy,  they  set  out  on  a  Sunday 
of  August  1788. 

They  started  from  their  sleeping  places  at 
midnight,  and  roped  carefully.  They  had 
furnished  themselves  with  climbing  irons  and 
alpenstocks.  They  suffered  from  mountain 
sickness  and  loss  of  appetite,  but  pluckily 
determined  to  proceed.  At  the  head  of  the 
glacier,  they  "  encountered  a  slope  of  rock 
devoid  of  snow,"  which  they  climbed.  "  It 
was  twelve  o'clock.  Hardly  had  we  got  to 
the  summit  of  the  rock  than  we  saw  a  grand — 
an  amazing — spectacle.  We  sat  down  to  con- 
template at  our  leisure  the  lost  valley,  which 
seemed  to  us  to  be  entirely  covered  with 
glaciers.  We  examined  it  carefully,  but  could 
not  satisfy  ourselves  that  it  was  the  unknown 
valley,  seeing  that  none  of  us  had  ever  been 
in  the  Vallais."  The  valley,  in  fact,  was  none 
other  than  the  valley  of  Zermatt,  and  the  pass, 
which  these  early  explorers  had  reached,  was 
the  Lysjoch,  where,  to  this  day,  the  rock  on 
which  they  rested  bears  the  appropriate  name 


88  THE  ALPS 

that  they  gave  it,  "  The  Rock  of  Discovery." 
Beck's  party  thus  reached  a  height  of  14,000 
feet,  a  record  till  Balmat  beat  them  on  Mont 
Blanc. 

The  whole  story  is  alive  with  the  undying 
romance  that  still  haunts  the  skyline  whose 
secrets  we  know  too  well.  The  Siegfried 
map  has  driven  the  happy  valley  further 
afield.  In  other  ranges,  still  uncharted,  we 
must  search  for  the  reward  of  those  that  cross 
the  great  divides  between  the  known  and  the 
unknown,  and  gaze  down  from  the  portals 
of  a  virgin  pass  on  to  glaciers  no  man  has 
trodden,  and  valleys  that  no  stranger  has 
seen.  And  yet,  for  the  true  mountaineer 
every  pass  is  a  discovery,  and  the  happy 
valley  beyond  the  hills  still  lives  as  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  child's  dream.  All  exploration, 
it  is  said,  is  due  to  the  two  primitive  instincts 
of  childhood,  the  desire  to  look  over  the  edge, 
and  the  desire  to'  look  round  the  comer.  And 
so  we  can  share  the  thrill  that  drove  that 
little  band  up  to  the  Rock  of  Discovery.  We 
know  that,  through  the  long  upward  toiling, 
their  eyes  must  ever  have  been  fixed  on  the 
curve  of  the  pass,  slung  between  the  guarding 
hills,  the  skyline  which  held  the  great  secret 
they  hoped  to  solve.  We  can  realise  the  last 
moments  of  breathless  suspense  as  their 
shoulders  were  thrust  above  the  dividing  wall. 


MONTE  ROSA  89 

and  the  ground  fell  away  from  their  feet  to 
the  valley  of  desire.  In  a  sense,  we  all  have 
known  moments  such  as  this;  we  have  felt 
tiie  "  intense  desire  to  see  if  the  Happy  Valley 
may  not  lie  just  round  the  comer." 

Twenty-three  years  after  this  memorable 
expedition,  Monte  Rosa  was  the  scene  of  one 
of  the  most  daring  first  ascents  in  Alpine 
history.  Dr.  Pietro  Giordani  of  A]  igna  made 
a  solitary  ascent  of  the  virgin  summit  which 
still  bears  his  name.  The  Punta  Giordani 
is  one  of  the  minor  simimits  of  the  Monte  Rosa 
chain,  and  rises  to  the  respectable  height  of 
13,304  feet.  Giordani's  ascent  is  another 
proof,  if  proof  were  needed,  that  the  early 
climbers  were,  in  many  ways,  as  adventurous 
as  the  modern  mountaineer.  We  find  Balmat 
making  a  series  of  solitary  attempts  on  Mont 
Blanc,  and  cheerfully  sleeping  out,  alone,  on 
the  higher  snowfields.  Giordani  climbs,  with- 
out companions,  a  virgin  peak;  and  another 
early  heio  of  Monte  Rosa,  of  whom  we  shall 
speak  in  due  course,  spent  a  night  in  a  cleft  of 
ice,  at  a  height  of  14,000  feet.  Giordani,  by 
the  way,  indited  a  letter  to  a  friend  from  the 
summit  of  his  peak.  He  begins  by  remarking 
that  a  sloping  piece  of  granite  serves  him  for 
a  table,  a  block  of  blue  ice  for  a  seat.  After 
an  eloquent  description  of  the  view,  he  ex- 
presses his  annoyance  at  the  lack  of  scientific 


90  THE  ALPS 

instruments,  and  the  lateness  of  the  hour 
which  alone  prevented  him — as  he  believed — 
from  ascending  Monte  Rosa  itself. 

Giordani's  ascent  closes  the  early  history 
of  Monte  Rosa;  but  we  cannot  leave  Monte 
Rosa  without  mention  of  some  of  the  men  who 
played  an  important  part  in  its  conquest. 
Monte  Rosa,  it  should  be  explained,  is  not  a 
single  peek,  but  a  cluster  of  ten  summits  of 
which  the  Dufour  Spitze  is  the  highest  point 
(15,217  feet).  Of  these,  the  Punta  Giordani 
was  the  first,  and  the  Dufour  Spitze  the  last, 
to  be  climbed.  In  1817,  Dr.  Parrott  made  the 
first  ascent  of  the  Parrott  Spitze  (12,648  feet) ; 
and  two  years  later  the  Vincent  Pyramid 
(18,829)  was  climbed  by  a  son  of  that  Vincent 
who  had  been  taken  on  Beck*s  expedition 
because  he  was  "  a  man  of  learning."  Dr. 
Parrott,  it  might  be  remarked  in  passing,  was 
the  first  man  to  reach  the  summit  of  Ararat, 
as  Noah  cannot  be  credited  with  having 
reached  a  higher  point  than  the  gap  between 
the  greater  and  the  lesser  Ararat. 

But  of  all  the  names  associated  with  pioneer 
work  on  Monte  Rosa  that  of  Zumstein  is  the 
greatest.  He  made  five  attempts  to  reach 
the  highest  point  of  the  group,  and  succeeded 
in  climbing  the  Zumstein  Spitze  (15,004  feet) 
which  still  bears  his  name.  He  had  numerous 
adventures  on  Monte  Rosa,  and  as  we  have 


MONTE  ROSA  91 

already  seen,  spent  one  night  in  a  crevasse,  at 
a  height  of  14,000  feet.  He  became  quite  a 
local  celebrity,  and  is  mentioned  as  such  by 
Prof.  Forbes  and  Mr.  King  in  their  respective 
books.  His  great  ascent  of  the  Zumstein 
Spitze  was  made  in  1820,  thirty-five  years 
before  the  conquest  of  the  highest  point  of 
Monte  Rosa. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TIBOL   AND   THE   OBERLAND 

The  story  of  Monte  Rosa  has  forced  us  to 
anticipate  the  chronological  order  of  events. 
We  must  now  turn  back,  and  follow  the 
fortunes  of  the  men  whose  names  are  linked 
with  the  great  peaks  of  Tirol  ^  and  of  the 
Oberland.  Let  us  recapitulate  the  most  im- 
portant dates'  in  the  history  of  mountaineer- 
ing before  the  opening  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Such  dates  are  1760,  which  saw  the 
beginning  of  serious  mountaineering,  with  the 
ascent  of  the  Titlis;  1778,  which  witnessed 
Beck's  fine  expedition  to  the  Lysjoch ;  1779, 
the  year  in  which  the  Velan,  and  1786,  the 
year  in  which  Mont  Blanc,  were  climbed.  The 
last  year  of  the  century  saw  the  conquest  of 
the  Gross  Glockner,  one  of  the  giants  of  Tirol. 

The  Glockner  has  the  distinction  of  being 
the  only  great  mountain  first  climbed  by  a 
Bishop.     Its  conquest  was  the  work  of  a  jovial 

1  Not  "The  Tirol,"  still  leas  "The  Austrian  Tirol," 
but  "Tirol"  We  do  not  speak  of  "The  Scotland"  or 
"The  British  Scotland." 

92 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND     98 

ecclesiastic,  by  name  and  style  Franz  Altgraf 
von  Salm-Reifferscheid  Krantheim,  Bishop  of 
Gurk,  hereinafter  termed — quite  simply — 
Salm.  Bishop  Salm  had  no  motive  but  the 
fun  of  a  climb.  He  was  not  a  scientist,  and 
he  was  not  interested  in  the  temperature  at 
which  water  boiled  above  the  snow  line, 
provided  only  that  it  boiled  sufficiently 
quickly  to  provide  him  with  hot  drinks  and 
shaving  water.  He  was  a  most  luxurious 
climber,  and  before  starting  for  the  Glockner 
he  had  a  magnificent  hut  built  to  accom- 
modate the  party,  and  a  chef  conveyed  from 
the  episcopal  palace  to  feed  them.  They 
were  weather-bound  for  three  days  in  these 
very  comfortable  quarters;  but  the  chej 
proved  equal  to  the  demands  on  his  talent. 
An  enthusiastic  climber  compared  the  dinners 
to  those  which  he  had  enjoyed  when  staying 
with  the  Bishop  at  Gurk.  There  were  eleven 
amateurs  and  nineteen  guides  and  porters  in 
the  party.  Their  first  attempt  was  foiled 
by  bad  weather.  On  August  25,  1799,  they 
reached  the  summit,  erected  a  cross,  and  dis- 
posed of  several  bottles  of  wine.  They  then 
discovered  that  their  triumph  was  a  trifle 
prematiu'c.  The  Glockner  consists  of  two 
summits  separated  by  a  narrow  ridge.  They 
had  climbed  the  lower;  the  real  summit  was 
still  112  feet  above  them.     Next  year  the 


94  THE  ALPS 

mistake  was  rectified ;  but,  though  the  Bishop 
was  one  of  the  party,  he  did  not  himself  reach 
the  highest  point  till  a  few  years  later. 

Four  years  after  the  Glockner  had  been 
climbed,  the  giant  of  Tirol  and  the  Eastern 
Alps  was  overcome.  The  conquest  of  the 
Ortler  was  due  to  a  romantic  fancy  of  Arch- 
duke John.  Just  as  Charles  VII  of  France 
deputed  his  chamberlain  to  climb  Mont 
Aiguille,  so  the  Archduke  (who,  by  the  way, 
was  the  son  of  the  Emperor  Leopold  II,  and 
brother  of  Francis  II,  last  of  the  Holy  Roman 
emperors)  deputed  Gebhard,  a  member  of 
his  suite,  to  climb  the  Ortler.  Gebhard  made 
several  attempts  without  success.  Finally, 
a  chamois  hunter  of  the  Passeierthal,  by 
name  Joseph  Pichler,  introduced  himself  to 
Gebhard,  and  made  the  ascent  from  Trafoi 
on  September  28,  1804.  Next  year  Gebhard 
himself  reached  the  summit,  and  took  a 
reading  of  the  height  by  a  barometer.  The 
result  showed  that  the  Ortler  was  higher  than 
the  Glockner — a  discovery  which  caused  great 
joy.  Its  actual  height  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
12,802  feet.  But  the  ascent  of  the  Ortler 
was  long  in  achieving  the  popularity  that  it 
deserved.  Whereas  the  Glockner  was  climbed 
about  seventy  times  before  1860,  the  Ortler 
was  only  climbed  twice  between  Gebhard's 
ascent  and  the  ascent  by  the  Brothers  Buxton 


TIROL  AND  THE   OBERLAND     95 

and  Mr.  Tuckett,  in  1864.  Archduke  John, 
who  inspu-ed  the  first  ascent,  made  an  un- 
successful attempt  (this  time  in  person)  on  the 
Gross  Venediger,  another  great  Tyrolese  peak. 
He  was  defeated,  and  the  mountain  was  not 
finally  vanquished  till  1841. 

The  scene  now  changes  to  the  Oberland. 
Nothing  much  had  been  accomplished  in  the 
Oberland  before  the  opening  years  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  A  few  passes,  the  Peters- 
grat,  Oberaarjoch,  Tschingel,  and  Gauli,  had 
been  crossed ;  but  the  only  snow  peaks  whose 
ascent  was  undoubtedly  accomplished  were 
the  Handgendgletscherhom  (10,806  feet)  and 
a  peak  whose  identification  is  difficult.  These 
were  climbed  in  1788  by  a  man  called  MuUer, 
who  was  engaged  in  surveying  for  Weiss.  His 
map  was  a  very  brilliant  achievement,  con- 
sidering the  date  at  which  it  appeared.  The 
expenses  had  been  defrayed  by  a  rich  merchant 
of  Aarau,  Johann  Rudolph  Meyer,  whose  sons 
were  destined  to  play  an  important  part  in 
Alpine  exploration.  J.  R.  Meyer  had  climbed 
the  Titlis,  and  one  of  his  sons  made  one  of  the 
first  glacier  pass  expeditions  in  the  Oberland, 
crossing  the  Tschingel  in  1790. 

J.  R.  Meyer's  two  sons,  Johann  Rudolph 
the  second  and  Hieronymus,  were  responsible 
for  some  of  the  finest  pioneer  work  in  the 
story  of  mountaineering.     In  1811  they  made 


96  THE  ALPS 

the  first  crossing  of  the  Beich  pass,  the  Lot- 
schenliicke,  and  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Jungfrau.  As  was  inevitable,  their  story 
was  disbeHeved.  To  dispel  all  doubt,  another 
expedition  was  undertaken  in  the  following 
year.  On  this  expedition  the  leaders  were 
Rudolph  and  Gottlieb  Meyer,  sons  of  J.  R. 
Meyer  the  second  (the  conqueror  of  the 
Jungfrau),  and  grandsons  of  J.  R.  Meyer  the 
first.  The  two  Meyers  separated  after  crossing 
the  Oberaarjoch.  Gottlieb  crossed  the  Griin- 
hornliicke,  and  bivouacked  near  the  site  of 
the  present  Concordia  Inn.  Rudolph  made 
his  classical  attempt  on  the  Finsteraarhom, 
and  rejoined  Gottlieb.  Next  day  Gottlieb 
made  the  second  ascent  of  the  Jungfrau  and 
Rudolph  forced  the  first  indisputable  cross- 
ing of  the  Strahlegg  pass  from  the  Unteraar 
glacier  to  Grindelwald. 

To  return  to  Rudolph's  famous  attempt  on 
the  Finsteraarhom.  Rudolph,  as  we  have 
seen,  separated  from  his  brother  Gottlieb 
near  the  Oberaarjoch.  Rudolph,  who  was 
only  twenty-one  at  the  time,  took  with  him 
two  Valaisian  hunters,  by  name  Alois  Volker 
and  Joseph  Bortis,  a  Melchthal  "porter," 
Arnold  Abbiihl,  and  a  Hasle  man.  Abbiihl 
was  not  a  porter  as  we  understand  the  word, 
but  a  knectt  or  servant,  of  a  small  inn.  He 
played  the  leading  part  in  this  climb.     The 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND     97 

party  bivouacked  on  the  depression  known  as 
the  Rothhornsattel,  and  left  it  next  morning 
when  the  sun  had  already  struck  the  higher 
summits,  probably  about  5  a.m.  They  de- 
scended to  the  Studerfirn,  and  shortly  before 
reaching  the  Ober  Studerjoch  started  to  climb 
the  great  eastern  face  of  the  Finsteraarhorn. 
After  six  hours,  they  reached  the  crest  of  the 
ridge.  Meyer  could  go  no  further,  and  re- 
mained where  he  was;  while  the  guides 
proceeded  and,  according  to  the  accounts 
which  have  come  down  to  us,  reached  the 
summit. 

Captain  Farrar  has  summed  up  all  the 
available  evidence  in  The  Alpine  Journal  for 
August  1913.  The  first  climber  who  attempted 
to  repeat  the  ascent  was  the  well-known 
scientist  Hugi.  He  was  led  by  the  same 
Arnold  Abbiihl,  who,  as  already  stated,  took  a 
prominent  part  in  Meyer's  expedition.  Abbiihl, 
however,  not  only  failed  to  identify  the  highest 
peak  from  the  Rothhornsattel,  but,  on  being 
pressed,  admitted  that  he  had  never  reached 
the  summit  at  all.  In  1830,  Hugi  published 
these  facts  and  Meyer,  indignant  at  the  implied 
challenge  to  his  veracity,,  promised  to  produce 
further  testimc.iy.  But  there  the  matter 
dropped.  Captain  Farrar  summarises  the 
situation  with  convincing  thorougl;iness, 

"  What  was  the  situation  in  1812  ?     We 

G 


98  THE  ALPS 

have  an  enthusiastic  ingenuous  youth  attempt- 
ing an  ascent  the  Hke  of  which  in  point  of 
difficulty  had  at  that  time  never  been,  nor 
was  for  nearly  fifty  years  after,  attempted. 
He  reaches  a  point  on  the  arete  without  any 
great  difficulty;  and  there  he  remains,  too 
tired  to  proceed.  About  this  portion  of  the 
ascent,  there  is,  save  as  to  the  precise  point 
gained,  no  question ;  and  it  is  of  this  portion 
alone  Meyer  is  a  first-hand  witness.  Three 
of  his  guides  go  on,  and  return  to  him  after 
many  hours  with  the  statement  that  they  had 
reached  the  summit,  or  that  is  what  he  under- 
stands. I  shall  examine  later  this  point. 
But  is  it  not  perfectly  natural  that  Meyer 
should  accept  their  statement,  that  he  should 
swallow  with  avidity  their  claim  to  have 
reached  the  goal  of  all  his  labours  ?  He  had, 
as  I  shall  show  later,  no  reason  to  doubt  them ; 
and,  doubtless,  he  remained  firm  in  his  belief 
until  Hugi's  book  appeared  many  years  after. 
At  once,  he  is  up  in  arms  at  Hugi's  questioning, 
as  he  thinks,  his  own  statements  and  his 
guides'  claims.  He  pens  his  reply  quoted 
above,  promises  to  publish  his  MSS.  and  hopes 
to  produce.testimony  in  support.  Then  comes 
Hugi's  reply,  and  Meyer  realises  that  his  own 
personal  share  in  the  expedition  is  not 
questioned ;  but  he  sees  that  he  may  after  all 
have  been  misled  by,  or  have  misunderstood. 


TIROL  AND   THE  OBERLAND     99 

his  guides,  and  he  is  faced  with  the  reported 
emphatic  denial  of  his  leading  guide,  who  was 
at  that  time  still  living,  and  could  have  been 
referred  to.  It  may  be  said  that  he  wrote  to 
Abbuhl  for  the  *  testimony,'  and  failed  to 
elicit  a  satisfactory  reply.  Thrown  into 
hopeless  doubt,  all  the  stronger  because  his 
belief  in  his  guide's  statement  had  been  firmly 
implanted  in  his  mind  all  these  nineteen  years, 
is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  lets  the  matter 
drop?  He  finds  himself  unable  to  get  any 
testimony,  and  realises  that  the  publication 
of  his  MS.  will  not  supply  any  more  reliable 
evidence.  One  can  easily  picture  the  dis- 
enchanted man  putting  the  whole  matter 
aside  in  sheer  despair  of  ever  arriving  at  the 
truth." 

We  have  no  space  to  follow  Captain  Farrar's 
arguments.  They  do  not  seem  to  leave  a 
shadow  of  doubt.  At  the  same  time.  Captain 
Farrar  acquits  the  party  of  any  deliberate 
intention  to  deceive,  and  admits  that  their 
iEiscent  of  the  secondary  summit  of  the  Fin- 
steraarhorn  was  a  very  fine  performance.  It 
is  noteworthy  that  many  of  the  great  peaks 
have  been  attempted,  and  some  actually 
climbed  for  the  first  time,  by  an  unnecessarily 
difficult  route.  The  Matterhorn  was  assailed 
for  years  by  the  difficult  Italian  arete,  before 
the  easy  Swiss  route  was  discovered.    The 


100  THE   ALPS 

south-east  route,  which  Meyer's  party  at- 
tempted, still  remains  under  certain  conditions, 
a  difficult  rock  climb,  which  may  not  unfitly 
be  compared  in  part  with  the  Italian  ridge  of 
the  Matterhom.  The  ordinary  west  ridge 
presents  no  real  difficulties. 

The  first  complete  ascent  of  the  Finsteraar- 
hom  was  made  on  August  10,  1829,  byHugi's 
two  guides,  Jakob  Leuthold  and  Joh.  Wahren. 
Hugi  remained  behind,  200  feet  below  the 
summit.  The  Hugisattel  still  commemorates 
a  pioneer  of  this  great  peak. 

So  much  for  the  Meyers.  They  deserve 
a  high  place  in  the  history  of  exploration. 
"  It  has  often  seemed  to  me,"  writes  Captain 
Farrer,  "  that  the  craft  of  mountaineering, 
and  even  more  the  art  of  mountaineering 
description,  distinctly  retrograded  for  over 
fifty  years  after  these  great  expeditions  of  the 
Meyers.  It  is  not  until  the  early  'sixties  that 
rocks  of  equal  difficulty  are  again  attacked. 
Even  then — ^witness  Aimer's  opinion  as  to 
the  inaccessibility  of  the  Matterhom — men 
had  not  yet  learned  the  axiom,  which  Alex- 
ander Burgener  was  the  first,  certainly  by 
practice  rather  than  by  explicit  enunciation, 
to  lay  down,  viz.  that  the  practicability  of 
rocks  is  only  decided  by  actual  contact. 
Meyer's  guides  had  a  glimmering  of  this.  It 
is  again  not  until  the  'sixties  that  Meyer's  calm 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND    101 

yet  vivid  descriptions  of  actualities  are  sur- 
passed by  those  brilliant  articles  of  Stephen, 
of  Moore,  of  Tuckett,  and  by  Whymper's 
great  *  Scrambles  *  that  are  the  glory  of 
English  mountaineering." 

But  perhaps  the  greatest  name  associated 
with  this  period  is  that  of  the  greal:  scientist, 
Agassiz.  Agassiz  is  a  striking  example  of  the 
possibilities  of  courage  and  a  lively  faith.  He 
never  had  any  money ;  and  yet  he  invariably 
lived  as  if  he  possessed  a  comfortable  com- 
petence. "  I  have  no  tune  for  making 
money,"  is  one  of  his  sayings  that  have 
become  famous.  He  was  a  native  of  Orbe, 
a  beautiful  town  in  the  Jura.  His  father  was 
a  pastor,  and  the  young  Agassiz  was  intended 
for  the  medical  profession.  He  took  the 
medical  degree,  but  remained  steadfast  in  his 
determination  to  become,  as  he  told  his  father, 
*'  the  first  naturalist  of  his  time."  Humboldt 
and  Cuvier  soon  discovered  his  powers;  in 
due  time  he  became  a  professor  at  Neuchatel. 
He  married  on  eighty  louis  a  year ;  but  money 
difficulties  never  depressed  him.  As  a  boy 
of  twenty,  earning  the  princely  sum  of  fifty 
pounds  a  year,  he  maintained  a  secretary  in 
his  employment,  a  luxury  which  he  never 
denied  himself.  Usually  he  maintained  two 
or  three.  At  Neuchatel,  his  income  eventually 
increased  to  £125  a  year.     On  this,  he  kept 


102  THE  ALPS 

up  an  academy  of  natural  history,  a  museum, 
a  staff  of  secretaries  and  assistants,  a  litho- 
graphic and  printing  plant,^  and  a  wife.  His 
wife,  by  the  way,  was  a  German  lady;  and 
it  is  not  surprising  that  her  chief  quarrel  with 
life  was  a  lack  of  money  for  household  expenses. 
The  naturalist,  who  had  no  time  for  making 
money,  spent  what  little  he  had  on  the 
necessities  of  his  existence,  such  as  printing 
presses  and  secretaries,  and  left  the  luxuries 
of  the  larder  to  take  care  of  themselves.  His 
family  helped  him  with  loans,  "  at  first,"  we 
are  told,  "  with  pleasure,  but  afterwards  with 
some  reluctance."  Humboldt  also  advanced 
small  sums.  "  I  was  pleased  to  remain  a 
debtor  to  Humboldt,"  writes  Agassiz,  a  senti- 
ment which  probably  awakens  more  sympathy 
in  the  heart  of  the  average  undergj-aduate 
than  it  did  in  the  bosom  of  Humboldt. 

A  holiday  which  Agassiz  spent  with  another 
great  naturalist,  Charpentier,  was  indirectly 
responsible  for  the  beginnings  of  the  glacial 
theory.  Throughout  Switzerland,  you  may 
find  huge  boulders  known  as  erratic  blocks. 
These  blocks  have  a  different  geological 
ancestry  from  the  rocks  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood.  They  did  not  grow  like 
mushrooms,  and  they  must  therefore  have 
been  carried  to  their  present  position  by  some 
outside  agency.     In  the  eighteenth  century. 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND    103 

naturalists  solved  all  these  questions  by  a 
priori  theories,  proved  by  quotations  from 
the  book  of  Genesis.  The  Flood  was  a 
favourite  solution,  and  the  Flood  was,  there- 
fore, invoked  to  solve  the  riddle  of  erratic 
blocks.  By  the  time  that  Agassiz  had  begun 
his  great  work,  the  Flood  was,  however, 
becoming  discredited,  and  its  reputed  opera- 
tions were  being  driven  further  afield. 

The  discovery  of  the  true  solution  was  due, 
not  to  a  scientist,  but  to  a  simple  chamois 
hunter,  named  Perrandier.  He  knew  no 
geology,  but  he  could  draw  obvious  con- 
clusions from  straightforward  data  without 
invoking  the  Flood.  He  had  seen  these 
blocks  on  glaciers,  and  he  had  seen  them  many 
miles  away  from  glaciers.  He  made  the  only 
possible  deduction — ^that  glaciers  must,  at 
some  time,  have  covered  the  whole  of  Switzer- 
land. Perrandier  expounded  his  views  to  a 
civil  engineer,  by  name  Venetz.  Venetz 
passed  it  on  to  Charpentier,  and  Charpentier 
converted  Agassiz.  Agassiz  made  prompt 
use  of  the  information,  so  prompt  that  Char- 
pentier accused  him  of  steaUng  his  ideas.  He 
read  a  paper  before  the  Helvetic  Society,  in 
which  he  announced  his  conviction  that  the 
earth  had  once  been  covered  with  a  sheet  of 
ice  that  extended  from  the  North  Pole  to 
Central   Asia.     The    scepticism    with   which 


104  THE  ALPS 

this  was  met  incited  Agassiz  to  search  for 
more  evidence  in  support  of  his  theory.  His 
best  work  was  done  in  "  The  H6tel  des 
Neuchatelois."  This  h6tel  at  first  consisted 
of  an  overhanging  boulder,  the  entrance  of 
which  was  screened  by  a  blanket.  The 
hotel  was  built  near  the  Grimsel  on  the 
medial  moraine  of  the  lower  Aar  glacier. 
To  satisfy  Mrs.  Agassiz,  her  husband  eventu- 
ally moved  into  even  more  palatial  quarters 
to  wit,  a  rough  cabin  covered  with  canvas. 
"The  outer  apartment,"  complains  Mrs. 
Agassiz,  a"  lady  hard  to  please,  "  boasted  a 
table  and  one  or  two  benches ;  even  a  couple 
of  chairs  were  kept  as  seats  of  honour  for 
occasional  guests.  A  shelf  against  the  wall 
accommodated  books,  instruments,  coats,  etc. ; 
and  a  plank  floor  on  which  to  spread  their 
blankets  at  night  was  a  good  exchange  for  the 
frozen  surface  of  the  glacier."  But  the  picture 
of  this  strange  mSnage  would  be  incomplete 
without  mention  of  Agassiz' s  companions. 
**  Agassiz  and  his  companions  "  is  a  phrase 
that  meets  us  at  every  turn  of  his  history. 
He  needed  companions,  partly  because  he 
was  of  a  friendly  and  companionable  nature, 
partly,  no  doubt,  to  vary  the  monotony  of 
Mrs.  Agassiz's  constant  complaints,  but 
mainly  because  his  ambitious  schemes  were 
impossible  without  assistance.     His  work  in- 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND     105 

volved  great  expenditure,  which  he  could  only 
recoup  in  part  from  the  scanty  grants  allowed 
him  by  scientific  societies,  and  the  patronage 
of  occasional  wealthy  amateurs.  The  first 
qualification  necessary  in  a  "  companion " 
was  a  certain  indifference  as  to  salary,  and 
the  usual  arrangement  was  that  Agassiz 
should  pro\  ide  board  and  lodging  in  the  h6tel, 
and  that,  if  his  assistant  were  in  need  of 
money,  Agassiz  should  provide  some  if  he 
had  any  lying  loose  at  the  time.  This  at 
least  was  the  substance  of  the  contract 
between  Agassiz,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
Edouard  Desor  of  Heidelberg  University,  on 
the  other  hand.  •     " 

Desor  is  perhaps  the  most  famous  of,  the 
little  band.  He  was  a  political  refugee, 
"  without  visible  means  of  subsistence."  He 
was  a  talented  young  gentleman  with  a  keen 
interest  in  scientific  disputes,  and  an  eye  for 
what  is  vulgarly  known  as  personal  advertise- 
ment. In  other  words  he  shared  the  very 
human  weakness  of  enjoying  the  sight  of  his 
name  in  honoured  print.  Another  companion 
was  Karl  Vogt.  Mrs.  Agassiz  had  two  great 
quarrels  with  life.  The  first  was  a  shortage 
of  funds,  and  the  second  was  the  impropriety 
of  the  stories  exchanged  between  Vogt  and 
Desors.  Another  companion  was  a  certain 
Gressly,  a  gentleman  whose  main  charm  for 


106  THE   ALPS 

Agassiz  consisted  in  the  fact  that,  "  though 
he  never  had  any  money,  he  never  wanted 
any."  He  lived  with  Agassiz  in  the  winter 
as  secretary.  In  summer  he  tramped  the 
Jura  in  search  of  geological  data.  He  never 
bothered  about  money,  but  was  always  pre- 
pared to  exchange  some  good  anecdotes  for 
a  night's  lodging.  Eventually,  h-3  went  mad 
and  ended  his  days  in  an  asylum.  Yet 
another  famous  name,  associated  with  Agassiz, 
is  that  of  DoUfus-Ausset,  an  Alsatian  of 
Miilhausen,  who  was  bom  in  1797.  His  great 
works  were  two  books,  the  first  entitled 
Materials  for  the  Study  of  Glaciers,  and  the 
second  Materials  for  the  Dyeing  of  Stuffs.  On 
the  whole,  he  seems  to  have  been  more 
interested  in  glaciers  than  in  velvet.  He 
made,  with  Desor,  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Galenstock,  and  also  of  the  most  southern 
peak  of  the  Wetterhom,  namely  the  Rosen- 
horn  (12,110  feet).  He  built  many  observa- 
tories on  the  Aar  glacier  and  the  Theodule, 
and  he  was  usually  known  as  "  Papa  Gletscher 
Dollfus." 

Such,  then,  were  Agassiz's  companions. 
Humour  and  romance  are  blended  in  the 
picture  of  the '  strange  little  company  that 
gathered  every  evening  beneath  the  rough 
shelter  of  the  hotel.  We  see  Mrs.  Agassiz 
bearing  with  admirable  resignation  those  in- 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND    107 

conveniences  that  must  have  proved  a  very 
real  sorrow  to  her  orderly  German  mmd. 
We  see  Desor  and  Vogt  exchanging  broad 
anecdotes  to  the  indignation  of  the  good  lady ; 
and  we  can  figure  the  abstracted  naturalist, 
utterly  indifferent  to  his  environment,  and 
only  occupied  with  the  deductions  that  may 
be  drawn  from  the  movement  of  stakes  driven 
into  a  glacier.  Let  me  quote  in  conclusion 
a  few  words  from  a  sympathetic  appreciation 
by  the  late  William  James  {Memories  and 
Studies) — 

"  Agassiz  was  a  splendid  example  of  the 
temperament  that  looks  forward  and  not 
backwards,  and  never  wastes  a  moment  in 
regrets  for  the  irrevocable.  I  had  the  privi- 
lege of  admission  to  his  society  during  the 
Thayer  expedition  to  Brazil.  I  well  remem- 
ber, at  night,  as  we  all  swung  in  our  hammocks, 
in  the  fairy  like  moonlight,  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  that  throbbed  its  way  up  the  Amazon 
between  the  forests  guarding  the  stream  on 
either  side,  how  he  turned  and  whispered, 
*  James,  are  you  awake  ?  *  and  continued,  '  I 
cannot  sleep ;  I  am  too  happy ;  I  keep  think- 
ing of  these  glorious  plans.'  .  .  . 

"  Agassiz' s  influence  on  methods  of  teaching 
in  our  community  was  prompt  and  decisive — 
all  the  more  so  that  it  struck  people's  imagina- 


108  THE  ALPS 

tion  by  its  very  excess.  The  good  old  way  of 
committing  printed  abstractions  to  memory 
seems  never  to  have  received  such  a  shock 
as  it  encountered  at  his  hands.  There  is 
probably  no  public  school  teacher  who  will 
not  tell  you  how  Agassiz  used  to  lock  a 
student  up  in  a  room  full  of  turtle  shells  or 
lobster  shells  or  oyster  shells,  without  a  book 
or  word  to  help  him,  and  not  let  him  out  till  he 
had  discovered  all  the  truths  which  the  objects 
contained.  Some  found  the  truths  after 
weeks  and  months  of  lonely  sorrow;  others 
never  found  them.  Those  who  found  them 
were  already  made  into  naturalists  thereby; 
the  failures  were  blotted  from  the  book  of 
honour  and  of  life.  '  Go  to  Nature ;  take  the 
facts  into  your  own  hands;  look  and  see  for 
yourself ' — these  were  the  maxims  which 
Agassiz  preached  wherever  he  went,  and  their 
effect  on  pedagogy  was  electric.  .  .  . 

"  The  only  man  he  really  loved  and  had  use 
for  was  the  man  who  could  bring  him  facts. 
To  see  facts,  not  to  argue  or  raisonniren  was 
what  life  meant  for  him ;  and  I  think  he  often 
positively  loathed  the  ratiocinating  type  of 
mind.  *Mr.  Blank,  you  are  totally  un- 
educated,* I  heard  him  say  once  to  a  student, 
who  had  propounded  to  him  some  glittering 
theoretic  generality.  And  on  a  similar  occa- 
sion, he  gave  an  admonition  that  must  have 


TIROL  AND  THE  OBERLAND     109 

sunk  deep  into  the  heart  of  him  to  whom  it 
was  addressed.  '  Mr.  X,  some  people  perhaps 
now  consider  you  are  a  bright  young  man; 
but  when  you  are  fifty  years  old,  if  they  ever 
speak  of  you  then,  what  they  will  say  will  be 
this  :  "  That  Mr.  X — oh  yes,  I  know  him ; 
he  used  to  be  a  very  bright  young  man."  ' 
Happy  is  the  conceited  youth  who  at  the 
proper  moment  receives  such  salutary  cold- 
water  therapeutics  as  this,  from  one  who  in 
other  respects  is  a  kind  friend." 

So  much  for  Agassiz.  It  only  remains  to 
add  that  his  companions  were  responsible 
for  some  fine  mountaineering.  During  these 
years  the  three  peaks  of  the  Wetterhorn  were 
climbed,  and  Desor  was  concerned  in  two  of 
these  successful  expeditions.  A  far  finer 
expedition  was  his  ascent  of  the  Lauteraar- 
horn,  by  Desor  in  1842.  This  peak  is  con- 
nected with  the  Schreckhorn  by  a  difficult 
ridge,  and  is  a  worthy  rival  to  that  well-known 
summit.  There  were  a  few  other  virgin 
climbs  in  this  period,  but  the  great  age  of 
Alpine  conquest  had  scarcely  begun. 

The  connecting  link  between  Agassiz  and 
modern  mountaineering  is  supplied  by  Gottlieb 
Studer,  who  was  born  in  1804,  and  died  in 
1890.  His  serious  climbing  began  in  1828, 
and  continued  for  sixty  years.     He  made  a 


110  THE  ALPS 

number  of  new  ascents,  and  reopened  scores 
of  passes,  only  known  to  natives.  Most 
mountaineers  know  the  careful  and  beautiful 
panoramas  which  are  the  work  of  his  pencil. 
He  drew  no  less  than  seven  hundred  of  these. 
His  great  work,  Ueber  Eis  und  Schnee,  a 
history  of  Swiss  climbing,  is  an  invaluable 
authority  to  which  most  of  his  successors  in 
this  field  are  indebted. 

The  careful  reader  will  notice  the  com- 
parative absence  of  the  English  in  the  climbs 
which  we  have  so  far  described.  The  coming 
of  the  English  deserves  a  chapter  to  itself. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

Mountaineering,  as  a  sport,  is  so  often 
treated  as  an  invention  of  Englishmen,  that 
the  real  facts  of  its  origin  are  unconsciously 
disguised.  A  commonplace  error  of  the  text- 
books is  to  date  sporting  mountaineering 
from  Mr.  Justice  Wills' s  famous  ascent  of  the 
Wetterhorn  in  1854.  The  Wetterhorn  has 
three  peaks,  and  Mr.  Justice  Wills  made 
the  ascent  of  the  summit  which  is  usually 
climbed  from  Grindelwald.  This  peak,  the 
Hasle  Jungfrau,  is  the  most  difficult  of  the 
group  but  it  is  not  the  highest.  In  those 
early  days,  first  ascents  were  not  recorded 
with  the  punctuality  and  thoroughness  that 
prevails  to-day;  and  a  large  circle  of 
mountaineers  gave  Mr.  Justice  Wills  the 
credit  of  making  the  first  ascent  of  the  Hasle 
Jungfrau,  or  at  least  the  first  ascent  from 
Grindelwald.  Curiously  enough,  the  climb, 
which  is  supposed  to  herald  sporting  moun- 
taineering, was  only  the  second  ascent  of  the 
111 


112  THE  ALPS 

Grindelwald  route  to  the  summit  of  a  peak 
which  had  already  been  chmbed  four  times. 
The  facts  are  as  follows :  Desor's  guides 
climbed  the  Hasle  Jungfrau  in  1844,  and 
Desor  himself  followed  a  few  days  after. 
Three  months  before  Wills's  ascent,  the  peak 
was  •  twice  climbed  by  an  early  English 
pioneer,  Mr.  Blackwell.  Blackwell's  first 
ascent  was  by  the  Rosenlaui  route,  which 
Desor  had  followed,  and  his  second,  by  the 
Grindelwald  route,  chosen  by  Mr.  Wills.  On 
the  last  occasion,  he  was  beaten  by  a  storm 
within  about  ten  feet  of  the  top,  ten  feet 
which  he  had  climbed  on  the  previous  occasion. 
He  planted  a  flag  just  under  the  final  cornice ; 
and  we  must  give  him  the  credit  of  the 
pioneer  ascent  from  Grindelwald.  Mr.  Wills 
never  heard  of  these  four  ascents,  and  be- 
lieved that  the  peak  was  still  virgin  when  he 
ascended  it. ' 

It  would  appear,  then,  that  the  so-called 
first  sporting  climb  has  little  claim  to  that 
distinction.  What,  precisely,  is  meant  by 
"  sporting  "  in  this  connection  ?  The  dis- 
tinction seems  to  be  drawn  between  those 
who  climb  a  mountain  for  the  sheer  joy  of 
adventure,  and  those  who  were  primarily 
concerned  with  the  increase  of  scientific 
knowledge.  The  distinction  is  important; 
but  it  is  often  forgotten  that  scientists,  like 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    113 

De  Saussure,  Forbes,  Agassiz  and  Desor, 
were  none  the  less  mountaineers  because  they 
had  an  intelligent  interest  in  the  geological 
history  of  mountains.  All  these  men  were 
inspired  by  a  very  genuine  mountaineering 
enthusiasm.  Moreover,  before  Mr.  Wills's 
climb  there  had  been  a  number  of  quite 
genuine  sporting  climbs.  A  few  Englishmen 
had  been  up  Mont  Blanc;  and,  though  most 
of  them  had  been  content  with  Mont  Blanc, 
they  could  scarcely  be  accused  of  scientific 
inspiration.  They,  however,  belonged  to  the 
"  One  man,  one  mountain,  school,"  and  as 
such  can  scarcely  claim  to  be  considered  as 
anything  but  mountaineers  by  accident.  Yet 
Englishmen  like  Hill,  Blackwell,  and  Forbes, 
had  climbed  mountains  with  some  regularity 
long  before  Mr.  Wills  made  his  great  ascent; 
and  foreign  mountaineers  had  already  achieved 
a  series  of  genuine  sporting  ascents.  Bourrit 
was  utterly  indifferent  to  science;  and 
Bourrit  was,  perhaps,  the  first  man  who  made 
a  regular  practice  of  climbing  a  snow  mountain 
every  year.  The  fact  that  he  was  not  often 
successful  must  not  be  allowed  to  discount 
his  sincere  enthusiasm.  Before  1840,  no 
Englishman  had  entered  the  ranks  of  regular 
mountaineers;  and  by  that  date  many  of 
the  great  Alpine  monarchs  had  fallen.  Mont 
Blanc,  the  outer  fortresses  of  Monte  Rosa, 

H 


114  THE  ALPS 

the  Finsteraarhorn,  King  of  the  Oberland, 
the  Ortler,  and  the  Glockner,  the  great  rivals 
of  the  Eastern  Alps,  had  all  been  conquered. 
The  reigning  oligarchies  of  the  Alps  had 
bowed  their  heads  to  man. 

Let  us  concede  what  must  be  conceded; 
even  so,  we  need  not  fear  that  our  share  in 
Alpine  history  will  be  unduly  diminished. 
Mr.  Wills's  ascent  was  none  the  less  epoch- 
making  because  it  was  the  fourth  ascent  of  a 
second-class  peak.  The  real  value  of  that 
climb  is  this  :  It  was  one  of  the  first  climbs 
that  were  directly  responsible  for  the  system- 
atic and  brilliant  campaign  which  was  in 
the  main  conducted  by  Englishmen.  Iso- 
lated foreign  mountaineers  had  already  done 
brilliant  work,  but  theh*  example  did  not 
give  the  same  direct  impetus.  It  was  not 
till  the  English  arrived  that  mountaineering 
became  a  fashionable  sport;  and  the  wide 
group  of  English  pioneers  that  carried  off 
almost  all  the  great  prizes  of  the  Alps  between 
1854  and  the  conquest  of  the  Matterhorn  in 
1865  may  fairly  date  their  invasion  from 
Mr.  Justice  Wills's  ascent,  a  climb  which, 
though  not  even  a  virgin  ascent  and  by  no 
means  the  first  great  climb  by  an  Englishman, 
was  none  the  less  a  landmark.  Mr.  Justice 
Wills's  vigorous  example  caught  on  as  no 
achievement  had  caught  on.    His  book,  which 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    115 

is  full  of  spirited  writing,  made  many  converts 
to  the  new  sport. 

There  had,  of  course,  been  many  enthusiasts 
who  had  preached  the  sport  before  Mr. 
Justice  Wills  climbed  the  Wetterhorn.  The 
earliest  of  all  Alpine  Journals  is  the  Alpina, 
which  first  expressed  the  impetus  of  the 
great  Alpine  campaign.  It  appeared  in  1806, 
and  survived  for  four  years,  though  the  name 
was  later  attached  to  a  magazine  which  has 
still  a  large  circulation  in  Switzerland.  It 
was  edited  by  Ulysses  von  Salis;  and  it 
contained  articles  on  chamois-hunting,  the 
ascent  of  the  Ortler,  etc.,  besides  reviews  of 
the  mountain  literature  of  the  period,  such 
books,  for  instance,  as  those  of  Bourrit  and 
Ebel.  "The  Glockner  and  the  Ortler," 
writes  the  editor,  "  may  serve  as  striking 
instances  of  our  ignorance,  until  a  few  years 
ago,  of  the  highest  peaks  in  the  Alpine  ranges. 
Excluding  the  Gotthard  and  Mont  Blanc,  and 
their  surrounding  eminences,  there  still  re- 
main more  than  a  few  marvellous  and  colossal 
peaks  which  are  no  less  worthy  of  becoming 
better  known." 

From  1840,  the  number  of  Englishmen 
taking  part  in  high  ascents  increases  rapidly; 
and  between  1854  and  1865  the  great  bulk 
of  virgin  ascents  stand  to  their  credit,  though 
it  must  always  be  remembered  that  these 


116  THE  ALPS 

ascents  were  led  by  Swiss,  French  and  Italian 
guides,  who  did  not,  however,  do  them  till 
the  English  arrived.  Before  1840  a  few 
Englishmen  climbed  Mont  Blanc;  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Campbell  crossed  the  Col  de  G^ant, 
which  had  previously  been  reopened  by 
Mr.  Hill;  and  Mr.  Malkin  crossed  a  few 
glacier  passes.  But  J.  D.  Forbes  was  really 
the  first  English  mountaineer  to  carry  out 
a  series  of  systematic  attacks  on  the  upper 
snows.  Incidentally,  his  book.  Travels  through 
the  Alps  of  Savoy,  published  in  1843,  was  the 
first  book  in  the  English  language  dealing 
with  the  High  Alps.  A  few  pamphlets  had 
been  published  by  the  adventurers  of  Mont 
Blanc,  but  no  really  serious  work.  Forbes 
is,  therefore,  the  true  pioneer  not  only  of 
British  mountaineering,  but  of  the  Alpine 
literature  in  our  tongue.  He  was  a  worthy 
successor  to  De  Saussure,  and  his  interest  in 
the  mountains  was  very  largely  scientific. 
He  investigated  the  theories  of  glacier  motion, 
and  visited  Agassiz  at  the  "  H6tel  des 
NeuchS,telois."  On  that  occasion,  if  Agassiz 
is  to  be  believed,  the  canny  Scotsman  managed 
to  extract  more  than  he  gave  from  the  genial 
and  expansive  Switzer.  When  Forbes  pub- 
lished his  theories,  Agassiz  accused  him  of 
stealing  his  ideas.  Desor,  whose  genius  for 
a  row  was  only  excelled  by  the  joy  he  took 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    117 

in  getting  up  his  case,  did  not  improve  matters ; 
and  a  bitter  quarrel  was  the  result.  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  rights  of  the  matter, 
Forbes  certainly  mastered  the  theory  of 
glacier  motion,  and  proved  his  thorough 
grasp  of  the  matter  in  a  rather  remarkable 
way.  In  1820,  a  large  party  of  guides  and 
amateurs  were  overwhelmed  by  an  avalanche 
on  the  Grand  Plateau,  and  three  of  the  guides 
disappeared  into  a  crevasse.  Their  bodies 
were  not  recovered.  Dr.  Hamel,  who  had 
organised  the  party,  survived.  He  knew 
something  of  glacier  motion,  and  ventured 
a  guess  that  the  bodies  of  the  guides  would 
reappear  at  the  bottom  of  the  glacier  in 
about  a  thousand  years.  He  was  just  nine 
hundred  and  thirty-nine  years  wrong  in  his 
calculation.  Forbes,  having  ascertained  by 
experiment  the  rate  at  which  the  glacier 
moved,  predicted  that  the  bodies  would 
reappear  in  forty  years.  This  forecast  proved 
amazingly  accurate.  Various  remains  re- 
appeared near  the  lower  end  of  the  Glacier 
des  Bossons  in  1861,  a  fragment  of  a  human 
body,  and  a  few  relics  came  to  light  two  years 
later,  and  a  skull,  ropes,  hat,  etc.,  in  1865. 
Strangely  enough,  this  accident  was  repeated 
in  almost  all  its  details  in  the  famous  Ark- 
wright  disaster  of  1866. 

Forbes  carried  through  a  number  of  fine 


118  THE  ALPS 

expeditions.  He  climbed  the  Jungfrau  with 
Agassiz  and  Desor — before  the  little  trouble 
referred  to  above.  He  made  the  first  passage 
by  an  amateur  of  the  Col  d'H^rens,  and  the 
first  ascents  of  the  Stockhorn  (11,796  feet) 
and  the  Wasenhorn  (10,661  feet).  Besides 
his  Alpine  wanderings,  he  explored  some  of 
the  glaciers  of  Savoy.  His  most  famous  book, 
The  Tour  of  Mont  Blanc,  is  well  worth  read- 
ing, and  contains  one  fine  passage,  a  simile 
between  the  motion  of  a  glacier  and  the 
life  of  man. 

Forbes  was  the  first  British  mountaineer; 
but  John  Ball  played  an  even  more  important 
part  in  directing  the  activity  of  the  English 
climbers.  He  was  a  Colonial  Under-Secretary 
in  Lord  Palmerston's  administration;  but  he 
gave  up  politics  for  the  more  exciting  field 
of  Alpine  adventure.  His  main  interest  in 
the  Alps  was,  perhaps,  botanical;  and  his 
list  of  first  ascents  is  not  very  striking, 
considering  the  host  of  virgin  peaks  that 
awaited  an  enterprising  pioneer.  His  great 
achievement  was  the  conquest  of  the  first 
great  dolomite  peak  that  yielded  its  secrets 
to  man,  the  Pelmo.  He  also  climbed  the 
virgin  Cima  Tosa  in  the  Brenta  dolomites, 
and  made  the  first  traverse  of  the  Schwartztor. 
He  was  the  first  to  edit  guidebooks  for  the 
use  of  mountaineers,  and  his  knowledge  of 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    119 

the  Alps  was  surprisingly  thorough.  He 
played  a  great  part  in  the  formation  of  the 
Alpine  Club,  and  in  the  direction  of  their 
literary  activity.  He  edited  the  classical 
series  of  Peaks,  Passes,  and  Glaciers,  and  a 
series  of  excellent  Alpine  guides. 

But  the  event  which  above  all  others 
attracted  the  attention  of  Englishmen  to  the 
Alps  was  Albert  Smith's  ascent  of  Mont 
Blanc.  Albert  Smith  is  the  most  picturesque 
of  the  British  mountaineers.  He  was  some- 
thing of  a  blagtteur,  but  behind  all  his  vulgarity 
lay  a  very  deep  feeling  for  the  Alps.  His 
little  book  on  Mont  Blanc  makes  good  read- 
ing. The  pictures  are  delightfully  inaccurate 
in  their  presentation  of  the  terrors  of  Alpine 
climbing ;  and  the  thoroughly  sincere  fashion 
in  which  the  whole  business  of  climbing  is 
written  up  proves  that  the  great  white 
mountain  had  not  yet  lost  its  prestige.  But 
we  can  forgive  Albert  Smith  a  great  deal,  for 
he  felt  the  glamour  of  the  Alps  long  before 
he  had  seen  a  hill  higher  than  St.  Anne's,  near 
Chertsey.  As  a  child,  he  had  been  given 
The  Peasants  of  Chamouni,  a  book  which 
rivalled  Pilgrim's  Progress  in  his  affections. 
This  mountain  book  fired  him  to  anticipate 
his  subsequent  success  as  a  showman, 
"  Finally,  I  got  up  a  small  moving  panorama 
of  the  horrors  pertaining  to  Mont  Blanc  .  .  . 


120  THE   ALPS 

and  this  I  so  painted  up  and  exaggerated  in 
my  enthusiasm,  that  my  little  sister — who 
was  my  only  audience,  but  an  admirable  one, 
for  she  eared  not  how  often  I  exhibited — would 
become  quite  pale  with  fright."  Time  passed, 
and  Albert  Smith  became  a  student  in  Paris. 
He  discovered  that  his  enthusiasm  for  Mont 
Blanc  was  shared  by  a  medical  student ;  and 
together  they  determined  to  visit  the  Mecca 
of  their  dreams.  They  collected  twelve 
pounds  apiece,  and  vowed  that  it  should  last 
them  for  five  weeks.  They  carried  it  about 
with  them  entirely  in  five-franc  pieces,  chiefly 
stuffed  into  a  leathern  belt  round  their 
waists.  Buying  "  two  old  soldiers'  knap- 
sacks at  three  francs  each,  and  two  pairs  of 
hobnailed  shoes  at  five  francs  and  a  half," 
they  started  off  on  their  great  adventure. 
Smith  wisely  adds  that,  "  if  there  is  anything 
more  delightful  than  travelling  with  plenty 
of  money,  it  is  certainly  making  a  journey  of 
pleasure  with  very  little." 

They  made  the  journey  to  Geneva  in 
seventy-eight  hours  by  diligence.  At  Melun 
they  bought  a  brick  of  bread  more  than  two 
feet  long.  "  The  passengers  paid  three  francs 
each  for  their  (Ujeuner,  ours  did  not  cost 
ten  sous."  At  night,  they  slept  in  the  empty 
diligence.  They  meant  to  make  that  twelve 
pounds    apiece    carry    them    some    distance. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    121 

From  Geneva  they  walked  to  Chamounix, 
helped  by  an  occasional  friendly  lift.  Smith 
was  delighted  with  the  realisation  of  childish 
dreams.  "  Every  step  was  like  a  journey 
in  fairyland."  In  fact,  the  only  disillusion 
was  the  contrast  between  the  Swiss  peasant 
of  romance  and  the  reality.  "  The  Alpine 
maidens  we  encountered  put  us  more  in 
mind  of  poor  law  unions  than  ballads; 
indeed,  the  Swiss  villagers  may  be  classed 
with  troubadours,  minstrel  pages,  shepherd- 
esses, and  other  fabulous  pets  of  small  poets 
and  vocalists."  After  leaving  Chamounix, 
Smith  crossed  the  St.  Bernard,  visited  Milan, 
and  returned  with  a  small  margin  still  left 
out  of  the  magic  twelve  pounds. 

Albert  Smith  returned  to  London,  took  up 
practice  as  a  surgeon,  wrote  for  Punchy  and 
acquired  a  big  reputation  as  an  entertainer 
in  The  Overland  Mail,  written  by  himself  and 
founded  on  a  journey  to  Egypt  and  Con- 
stantinople. The  songs  and  sketches  made 
the  piece  popular,  and  insured  a  long  run. 
At  the  close  of  the  season  he  went  to 
Chamounix  again,  fully  determined  to  climb 
Mont  Blanc.  He  was  accompanied  by  William 
Beverley,  the  artist,  and  was  lucky  to  fall  in 
with  some  Oxford  undergraduates  with  the 
same  ambition  as  himself.  They  joined 
forces,    and   a   party    of   twenty,    including 


122  THE  ALPS 

guides,  prepared  for  the  great  expedition. 
Amongst  other  provisions,  they  took  ninety- 
four  bottles  of  wine,  four  legs  of  mutton,  four 
shoulders  of  mutton,  and  forty-six  fowls. 
Smith  was  out  of  training,  and  suffered 
terribly  from  mountain  sickness.  He  was 
horrified  by  the  Mur  de  la  Cote,  which  he 
describes  as  "  an  all  but  perpendicular  ice- 
berg," and  adds  that  "  every  step  was  gained 
from  the  chance  of  a  horrible  death."  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  Mur  de  la  C6te  is  a  very 
simple,  if  steep,  snow  slope.  A  good  ski- 
runner  could,  under  normal  conditions,  de- 
scend it  on  ski.  If  Smith  had  fallen,  he 
would  have  rolled  comfortably  to  the  bottom, 
and  stopped  in  soft  snow.  "  Should  the  foot 
or  the  baton  slip,"  he  assures  us,  "  there  is 
no  chance  for  life.  You  would  glide  like 
lightning  from  one  frozen  crag  to  another, 
and  finally  be  dashed  to  pieces  hundreds  of 
feet  below."  It  is  pleasant  to  record  that 
Smith  reached  the  summit,  though  not  with- 
out considerable  difficulty,  and  that  his  party 
drank  all  the  wine  and  devoured  the  forty-six 
fowls,  etc.,  before  their  successful  return  to 
Chamounix.  '  ^ 

Smith  wrote  an  account  of  the  ascent  which 
provoked  a  bitter  attack  in  The  Daily  News. 
Albert  Smith  was  contrasted  with  De  Saussure, 
greatly  to  Smith's  disadvantage.     The  sober, 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    128 

practical  Englishman  of  the  period  could  only 
forgive  a  mountain  ascent  if  the  climber 
brought  back  with  him  from  the  heights, 
something  more  substantial  than  a  vision 
of  remembered  beauty.  A  few  inaccurate 
readings  of  an  untrustworthy  barometer 
could,  perhaps,  excuse  a  pointless  exploit. 
"  Saussure's  observations,"  said  a  writer  in 
The  Daily  News,  "  live  in  his  poetical  philo- 
sophy, those  of  Mr.  Albert  Smith  will  be  most 
appropriately  recorded  in  a  tissue  of  indifferent 
puns,  and  stale,  fast  witticisms  with  an  in- 
cessant straining  after  smartness.  The  aim- 
less scramble  of  the  four  pedestrians  to  the 
top  of  Mont  Blanc  will  not  go  far  to  redeem 
the  somewhat  equivocal  reputation  of  the 
herd  of  English  to  risks  in  Switzerland  for 
a  mindless,  and  rather  vulgar,  redundance  of 
animal  spirits."  Albert  Smith  did  not  allow 
the  subject  to  drop.  He  turned  Mont  Blanc 
into  an  entertainment  at  the  Egyptian  Hall, 
an  entertainment  which  became  very  popular, 
and  was  patronised  by  the  Queen. 

Narrow-minded  critics  affect  to  believe 
that  Albert  Smith  was  nothing  more  than  a 
showman,  and  that  Mont  Blanc  was  for  him 
nothing  more  than  a  peg  on  which  to  hang 
a  popular  entertainment.  This  is  not  true. 
Mr.  Mathews  does  him  full  justice  when  he 
says :     "  He   was  emphatically   a   showman 


124  THE  ALPS 

from  his  birth,  but  it  is  not  true  he  ascended 
the  mountain  for  the  purpose  of  making 
a  show  of  it.  His  well-known  entertainment 
resulted  from  a  lifelong  interest  which  he 
had  taken  in  the  great  summit,  of  which  he 
never  failed  to  speak  or  write  with  reverence 
and  affection."  Mr.  Mathews  was  by  no 
means  naturally  prejudiced  in  favour  of  any- 
body'who  tended  to  popularise  the  Alps,  and 
his  tribute  is  all  the  more  striking  in  conse- 
quence. Albert  Smith  fell  in  love  with  Mont 
Blanc  long  before  he  had  seen  a  mountain. 
Nobody  can  read  the  story  of  his  first  journey 
with  twelve  pounds  in  his  pocket,  without 
realising  that  Albert  Smith,  the  showman, 
loved  the  mountains  with  much  the  same 
passion  as  his  more  cultured  successors. 
Mr.  Mathews  adds  :  "  It  is  but  just  to  his 
memory  to  record  that  he,  too,  was  a  pioneer. 
Mountaineering  was  not  then  a  recognised 
Sport  for  Englishmen.  Hitherto,  any  in- 
formation about  Mont  Blanc  had  to  be  sought 
for  in  isolated  publications.  Smith  brought 
a  more  or  less  accurate  knowledge  of  it,  as  it 
were,  to  the  hearths  and  homes  of  educated 
Englishmen.  .  .  .  Smith's  entertainment  gave 
an  undoubted  impetus  to  mountaineering." 

While  Smith  was  lecturing,  a  group  of 
Englishmen  were  quietly  carrying  through  a 
series  of  attacks  on  the  unconquered  citadels 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  ENGLISH     125 

of  the  Alps.  In  1854  Mr.  Justice  Wills  made 
that  ascent  of  the  Wetterhorn  which  has 
already  been  referred  to.  It  is  fully  de- 
scribed in  Mr,  Justice  Wills's  interesting  book, 
Wanderings  among  the  High  Alps,  and, 
amongst  other  things,  it  is  famous  as  the  first 
appearance  in  Alpine  history  of  the  great 
guide.  Christian  Aimer.  Mr.  Wills  left 
Grindelwald  with  Ulrich  Lauener,  a  guide 
who  was  to  play  a  great  part  in  Alpine  ad- 
venture, Balmat  and  Simond.  "  The  land- 
lord wrung  Balmat's  hand.  '  Try,'  said  he, 
*  to  return  all  of  you  alive.'  "  Lauener 
burdened  himself  with  a  "  flagge  "  to  plant 
on  the  summit.  This  "  flagge  "  resolved  itself 
on  inspection  into  a  very  solid  iron  construc- 
tion in  the  shape  of  a  banner,  which  Lauener 
carried  to  the  summit  on  the  following  day. 
They  bivouacked  on  the  Enge,  and  climbed 
next  day  without  great  difficulty,  to  the  gap 
between  the  two  summits  of  the  Wetterhorn, 
now  known  as  the  Wettersattel.  They  made 
a  short  halt  here;  and,  while  they  were 
resting,  they  noticed  with  surprise  two  men 
working  up  the  rocks  they  had  just  climbed. 
Lauener  at  first  supposed  they  were  chamois 
hunters;  but  a  moment's  reflection  con- 
vinced the  party  that  no  hunter  would  seek 
his  prey  on  such  unlikely  ground.  Moreover, 
chamois  hunters  do  not  usually  carry  on  their 


126  THE  ALPS 

backs  "  a  young  fir-tree,  branches,  leaves, 
and  all."  They  lost  sight  of  the  party  and 
continued  their  meal.  They  next  saw  the 
two  strangers  on  the  snow  slopes  ahead, 
making  all  haste  to  be  the  first  on  the  summit. 
This  provoked  great  wrath  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Wills's  guides,  who  believed  that  the 
Wetterhorn  was  a  virgin  peak,  a  view  also 
shared  by  the  two  usurpers,  who  had  heard 
of  the  intended  ascent  and  resolved  to  plant 
their  fir-tree  side  by  side  with  the  iron 
"  flagge."  They  had  started  very  early  that 
same  morning,  and  hunted  their  quarry 
down.  A  vigorous  exchange  of  shouts  and 
threats  resulted  in  a  compromise.  "  Balmat's 
anger  was  soon  appeased  when  he  found  they 
owned  the  reasonableness  of  his  desire  that 
they  should  not  steal  from  us  the  distinction 
of  being  the  first  to  scale  that  awful  peak; 
and,  instead  of  administering  the  fisticuffs 
he  had  talked  about,  he  declared  they  were 
bons  enfants  after  all,  and  presented  them 
with  a  cake  of  chocolate.  Thus  the  pipe  of 
peace  was  smoked,  and  tranquillity  reigned 
between  the  rival  forces." 

From  their  resting-place  they  could  see  the 
final  summit.  From  this  point  a  steep  snow 
slope,  about  three  to  four  hundred  feet  in 
height,  rises  to  the  final  crest,  which  is  usually 
crowned  by  a  cornice.     The  little  party  made 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    127 

their  way  up  the  steep  slope,  till  Lauener 
reached  the  final  cornice.  •  It  should,  perhaps, 
be  explained,  that  a  cornice  is  a  projecting 
cave  of  wind-blown  snow  which  is  usually 
transformed  by  sun  and  frost  into  ice. 
Lauener  "  stood  close,  not  facing  the  parapet, 
but  turned  half  round,  and  struck  out  as 
far  away  from  himself  as  he  could.  .  .  . 
Suddenly,  a  startling  cry  of  surprise  and 
triumph  rang  through  the  air.  A  great 
block  of  ice  bounded  from  the  top  of  the 
parapet,  and  before  it  had  well  lighted  on 
the  glacier,  Lauener  exclaimed  '  Ich  schaue 
den  Blauen  Himmel '  ('  I  see  blue  sky ').  A 
thrill  of  astonishment  and  delight  ran  through 
our  frames.  Our  enterprise  had  succeeded. 
We  were  almost  upon  the  actual  summit. 
That  wave  above  us,  frozen,  as  it  seemed,  in 
the  act  of  falling  over,  into  a  strange  and 
motionless  magnificence,  was  the  very  peak 
itself.  Lauener's  blows  flew  with  redoubled 
energy.  In  a  few  minutes  a  practicable 
breach  was  made,  through  which  he  disap- 
peared; and  in  a  moment  more  the  sound 
of  his  axe  was  heard  behind  the  battlement 
bnder  whose  cover  we  stood.  In  his  excite- 
ment he  had  forgotten  us,  and  very  soon  the 
whole  mass  would  have  come  crashing  down 
upon  our  heads.  A  loud  shout  of  warning 
from  Sampson,  who  now  occupied  the  gap, 


128  THE  ALPS 

was  echoed  by  five  other  eager  voices,  and 
he  turned  his  energies  in  a  safer  direction. 
It  was  not  long  before  Lauener  and  Sampson 
together  had  widened  the  opening;  and  then 
at  length  we  crept  slowly  on.  As  I  took  the 
last  step  Balmat  disappeared  from  my  sight; 
my  left  shoulder  grazed  against  the  angle  of 
the  icy  embrasure,  while  on  the  right  the 
glacier  fell  abruptly  away  beneath  me  towards 
an  unknown  and  awful  abyss;  a  hand  from 
an  invisible  person  grasped  mine;  I  stepped 
across,  and  had  passed  the  ridge  of  the 
Wetterhom. 

"  The  instant  before  I  had  been  face  to 
face  with  a  blank  wall  of  ice.  One  step, 
and  the  eye  took  in  a  boimdless  expanse  of 
crag  and  glacier,  peak  and  precipice,  mountain 
and  valley,  lake  and  plain.  The  whole  world 
seemed  to  lie  at  my  feet.  The  next  moment, 
I  was  almost  appalled  by  the  awfulness  of 
our  position.  The  side  we  had  come  up  was 
steep;  but  it  was  a  gentle  slope  compared 
with  that  which  now  fell  away  from  where  I 
stood.  A  few  yards  of  glittering  ice  at  our 
feet,  and  then  nothing  between  us  and  the 
green  slopes  of  Grindelwald  nine  thousand 
feet  beneath." 

The  "  iron  flagge  '*  and  fir-tree  were 
planted  side  by  side,  and  attracted  great 
attention    in    Grindelwald.     The    "  flagge " 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH     129 

they  could  understand,  but  the  fir-tree  greatly 
puzzled   them. 

Christian  Aimer,  the  hero  of  the  fir-tree, 
was  destined  to  be  one  of  the  great  Alpine 
guides.  His  first  ascents  form  a  formidable 
list,  and  include  the  Eiger,  Monch,  Fiescher- 
horn  in  the  Oberland  (besides  the  first  ascent 
of  the  Jungfrau  direct  from  the  Wengern 
Alp),  the  Ecrins,  monarch  of  the  Dauphiny, 
the  Grand  Jorasses,  Col  Dolent,  Aiguille 
Verte  in  the  Mont  Blanc  range,  the  Ruinette, 
and  Morning  Pass  in  the  Pennines.  But 
Aimer's  most  affectionate  recollections  always 
centred  round  the  Wetterhorn.  The  present 
writer  remembers  meeting  him  on  his  way  to 
celebrate  his  golden  wedding,  on  the  summit 
of  his  first  love.  Aimer  also  deserves  to  be 
remembered  as  a  pioneer  of  winter  mountain- 
eering. He  made  with  Mr.  Coolidge  the 
first  winter  ascents  of  the  Jungfrau  and 
Wetterhorn.  It  was  on  a  winter  ascent  of 
the  former  peak  that  he  incurred  frostbite, 
that  resulted  in  the  amputation  of  his  toes, 
and  the  sudden  termination  of  his  active 
career.  Some  years  later  he  died  peaceably 
in  his  bed. 

A   year   after   Mr.    Wills' s   famous   climb, 

a  party  of  Englishmen,  headed  by  the  brothers 

Smyth,  conquered  the  highest"  point  of  Monte 

Rosa.      The    Alpine    campaign    was    fairly 

I 


180  THE  ALPS 

opened.  Hudson  made  a  new  route  up 
Mont  Blanc  without  guides,  the  first  great 
guideless  cHmb  by  EngHshmen.  Hinehcliffe, 
the  Mathews,  E.  S.  Kennedy,  and  others, 
had  already  done  valuable  work. 

The  Alpine  Club  was  the  natural  result  of 
the  desire  on  the  part  of  these  climbers  to 
meet  together  in  London  and  compare  notes. 
The  idea  was  first  mooted  in  a  letter  from 
Mr.  William  Mathews  to  the  Rev.  J.  A.  Hort.* 
The  first  meeting  was  held  on  December  22, 
1857.  The  office  of  President  was  left  open 
till  it  was  deservedly  filled  by  John  Ball; 
E.  S.  Kennedy  became  Vice-President,  and 
Mr.  Hinehcliffe,  Honorary  Secretary.  It  is 
pleasant  to  record  that  Albert  Smith,  the 
showman,  was  an  original  member.  The 
English  pioneers  prided  themselves,  not  with- 
out some  show  of  justification,  on  the  fact 
that  their  sport  attracted  men  of  great 
intellectual  powers.  Forbes,  Tyndall,  and 
Leslie  Stephen,  are  great  names  in  the  record 
of  Science  and  Literature.  The  present 
Master  of  Trinity  was  one  of  the  early  mem- 
bers, his  qualification  being  an  ascent  of 
Monte  Rosa,  Sinai,  and  Parnassus. 

There  were  some  remarkable  men  in  this 

^  The  origin  of  the  Alpine  Club  is,  to  some  extent, 
a  matter  of  dispute,  the  above  is  the  view  usually 
entertained. 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    131 

early  group  of  English  mountaineers.  Of 
John  Ball  and  Albert  Smith,  we  have  already 
spoken.  Perhaps  the  most  distinguished 
mountaineer  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
outside  world  was  John  Tyndall.  Tyndall 
was  not  only  a  great  scientist,  and  one  of  the 
foremost  investigators  of  the  theory  of  glacier 
motion,  he  was  also  a  fine  mountaineer. 
His  finest  achievement  was  the  first  ascent 
of  the  Weishom;  and  he  also  played  a  great 
part  in  the  long  struggle  for  the  blue  ribbon 
of  the  Alps — ^the  Matterhorn.  His  book. 
Hours  of  Exercise  in  the  Alps,  makes  good 
reading  when  once  one  has  resigned  oneself 
to  the  use  of  somewhat  pedantic  terms  for 
quite  simple  operations.  Somewhere  or  other 
— I  quote  from  memory — a  guide's  legs  are 
referred  to  as  monstrous  levers  that  projected 
his  body  through  space  with  enormous 
velocity !  Tyndall,  by  the  way,  chose  to 
take  offence  at  some  light-hearted  banter 
which  Leslie  Stephen  aimed  at  the  scientific 
mountaineers.  The  passage  occurs  in 
Stephen's  chapter  on  the  Rothhorn.  "  '  And 
what  philosophic  observations  did  you  make  ?  ' 
will  be  the  inquiry  of  one  of  those  fanatics 
who  by  a  process  of  reasoning  to  me  utterly 
inscrutable  have  somehow  irrevocably  associ- 
ated Alpine  travelling  with  science.  To  them, 
I  answer,  that  the  temperature  was  approxi- 


182  THE  ALPS 

mately  (I  had  no  thermometer)  212  degrees 
Fahrenheit  below  freezing  point.  As  for 
ozone,  if  any  existed  in  the  atmosphere,  it 
was  a  greater  fool  than  I  take  it  for."  This 
flippancy  caused  a  temporary  breach  between 
Stephen  and  Tyndall  which  was,  however, 
eventually  healed. 

Leslie  Stephen  is,  perhaps,  best  known  as 
a  writer  on  ethics,  though  his  numerous 
works  of  literary  criticism  contain  much  that 
is  brilliant  and  little  that  is  unsound.  It 
has  been  said  that  the  popularity  of  the 
word  "  Agnostic  "  is  due  less  to  Huxley,  who 
invented  it,  than  to  Leslie  Stephen  who 
popularised  it  in  his  well  known  Agnostic^s 
Apology,  an  important  landmark  in  the  history 
of  English  Rationalism.  The  present  writer 
has  read  almost  every  line  that  Stephen 
wrote,  and  yet  feels  that  it  is  only  in  The 
Playground  of  Europe  that  he  really  let  him- 
self go.  Though  Stephen  had  a  brilliant 
record  as  a  mountaineer,  it  is  this  book  that 
is  his  best  claim  to  the  gratitude  and  honour 
of  climbers.  Stephen  was  a  fine  mountaineer, 
as  well  as  a  distinguished  writer.  He  was 
the  first  to  climb  the  Shreckhom,  Zinal 
Rothhorn,  Bietschhorn,  Blumlisalp,  Rimphi- 
schorn,  Disgrazia,  and  Mont  Malet.  He  had 
the  true  mountaineering  instinct,  which  is 
always  stirred  by  the  sight  of  an  uncrossed 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    133 

pass;  and  that  great  wall  of  rock  and  ice 
that  shadows  the  Wengern  Alp  always  sug- 
gests Stephen,  for  it  falls  in  two  places  to 
depressions  which  he  was  the  first  to  cross, 
passes  immortalised  in  the  chapters  deal- 
ing with  "The  Jungfraujoch "  and  "The 
Eigerjoch." 

It  is  not  easy  to  stop  if  one  begins  to 
catalogue  the  distinguished  men  who  helped 
to  build  up  the  triumphs  of  this  period. 
Professor  Bonney,  an  early  president,  was  a 
widely  travelled  mountaineer,  and  a  scientist 
of  world-wide  reputation.  His  recent  work 
on  the  geology  of  the  Alps,  is  perhaps  the  best 
book  of  the  kind  in  existence.  The  Rev. 
Fenton  Hort  had,  as  we  have  seen,  a  great  deal 
to  do  with  the  formation  of  the  Alpine  Club. 
His  life  has  been  written  by  his  son.  Sir 
Arthur  Hort.  Of  John  Ball  and  Mr.  Justice 
Wills,  we  have  already  spoken.  Of  Whymper 
we  shall  have  enough  to  say  when  we  sum- 
marise the  great  romance  of  the  Matterhorn. 
He  was  a  remarkable  man,  with  iron  deter- 
mination and  great  intellectual  gifts.  His 
classic  Scrambles  in  the  Alps  did  more  than 
any  other  book  to  make  new  mountaineers. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  draughtsmen  who 
combined  a  mountaineer's  knowledge  of  rock 
and  ice  with  the  necessary  technical  ability 
to  reproduce   the  grandeur  of  the  Alps   in 


134  THE  ALPS 

black  and  white.  One  should  compare  the 
delightful  woodcuts  from  his  sketches  with 
the  crude,  shapeless  engravings  that  decorate 
PeakSy  Passes,  and  Glaciers.  His  great  book 
deserved  its  success.  Whymper  himself  was 
a  strong  personality.  He  had  many  good 
qualities  and  some  that  laid  him  open  to 
criticism.  He  made  enemies  without  much 
difficulty.  But  he  did  a  great  work,  and  no 
man  has  a  finer  monument  to  keep  alive  the 
memory  of  his  most  enduring  triumphs. 

Another  name  which  must  be  mentioned 
is  that  of  Mr.  C.  E.  Mathews,  a  distinguished 
pioneer  whose  book  on  Mont  Blanc  has  been 
quoted  in  an  earlier  chapter.  He  was  a 
most  devoted  lover  of  the  great  mountain, 
and  climbed  it  no  less  than  sixteen  times. 
He  was  a  rigid  conservative  in  matters 
Alpine;  and  there  is  something  rather  en- 
gaging in  his  contempt  for.  the  humbler 
visitors  to  the  Alps.  "  It  is  a  scandal  to  the 
Republic,"  he  writes,  "  that  a  line  should 
have  been  permitted  between  Grindelwald 
and  Interlaken.  Alas  for  those  who  hailed 
with  delight  the  extension  of  the  Rhone 
Valley  line  from  Sion  to  Visp  !  "  It  would 
have  been  interesting  to  hear  his  comments 
on  the  Jungfrau  railway.  The  modern 
mountaineer  would  not  easily  forego  the 
convenience  of  the  trains  to  Zermatt  that 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    185 

save  him  many  hours  of  tiresome,  if  romantic, 
driving. 

Then  there  is  Thomas  HinchcUffe,  whose 
Summer  Months  in  the  Alps  gave  a  decided 
impetus  to  the  new  movement.  He  belongs 
to  a  slightly  earlier  period  than  A.  W.  Moore, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  early 
group.  Moore  attained  a  high  and  honour- 
able position  in  the  Home  Office.  His  book 
The  Alps  in  1864,  which  has  recently  been 
reprinted,  is  one  of  the  sincerest  tributes  to 
the  romance  of  mountaineering  in  the  English 
language.  Moore  took  part  in  a  long  list 
of  first  ascents.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
party  that  achieved  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Ecrins  which  Whymper  has  immortalised, 
and  he  had  numerous  other  virgin  ascents 
to  his  credit.  His  most  remarkable  feat  was 
the  first  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc  by  the  Brenva 
ridge,  the  finest  ice  expedition  of  the  period. 
Mr.  Mason  has  immortalised  the  Brenva  in 
his  popular  novel.  Running  Water. 

And  so  the  list  might  be  indefinitely  ex- 
tended, if  only  space  permitted.  There  was 
Sir  George  Young,  who  took  part  in  the  first 
ascent  of  the  Jungfrau  from  the  Wengem 
Alp  and  who  was  one  of  the  first  to  attempt 
guideless  climbing.  There  was  Hardy,  who 
made  the  first  English  ascent  of  the  Fin- 
steraarhom,   and   Davies   who   climbed   the 


186  THE  ALPS 

two  loftiest  Swiss  peaks,  Dom  and  Tasch- 
hom.^  "What  I  don't  understand,"  he  said 
to  a  friend  of  the  present  writer,  "  is  why 
you  modern  mountaineers  always  climb  on 
a  rope.  Surely  your  pace  must  be  that  of  the 
slowest  member  of  the  party?  "  One  has  a 
picture  of  Davies  striding  impatiently  ahead, 
devouring  the  ground  in  great  hungry  strides, 
while  the  weaker  members  dwindled  into 
small  black  spots  on  the  face  of  the  glacier. 
And  then  there  is  Tuckett,  who  died  in  1913. 
Of  Tuckett,  Leslie  Stephen  wrote  :  "In  the 
heroic  cycle  of  Alpine  adventure  the  irre- 
pressible Tuckett  will  occupy  a  place  similar 
to  Ulysses.  In  one  valley  the  peasant  will 
point  to  some  vast  breach  in  the  everlasting 
rocks  hewn,  as  his  fancy  will  declare,  by  the 
sweep  of  the  mighty  ice-axe  of  the  hero.  .  .  . 
The  broken  masses  of  a  descending  glacier 
will  fairly  represent  the  staircase  which  he 
built  in  order  to  scale  a  previously  inaccessible 
height.  .  .  .  Critics  will  be  disposed  to  trace 
in  him  one  more  example  of  the  universal 
solar  myth.  .  .  .  Tuckett,  it  will  be  an- 
nounced, is  no  other  than  the  sun  which 
appears  at  earliest  dawn  above  the  tops  of 
the  loftiest  mountains,  gilds  the  summits  of 
the  most  inaccessible  peaks,  penetrates  remote 

^  Mount  Blanc  is  divided  between  France  and  Italy: 
and  the  Italian  frontier  crosses  Monte  Rosa. 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   ENGLISH     137 

valleys,  and  passes  in  an  incredibly  short  time 
from  one  extremity  of  the  Alpine  chain  to 
another." 

The  period  which  closes  with  the  ascent 
of  the  Matterhorn  in  1865  has  been  called 
the  Golden  Age  of  Mountaineering ;  •  and  the 
mountaineers  whom  we  have  mentioned  were 
responsible  for  the  greater  portion  of  this 
glorious  harvest.  By  1865  the  Matterhorn 
was  the  only  remaining  Zermat  giant  that 
still  defied  the  invaders ;  and  beyond  Zermat 
only  one  great  group  of  mountains,  the 
Dolomites,  still  remained  almost  unconquered. 
It  was  the  age  of  the  guided  climber.  '  The 
pioneers  did  excellent  work  in  giving  the 
chamois  hunter  -the  opportunity  to  become 
a  guide.  And  many  of  these  amateurs  were 
really  the  moral  leaders  of  their  parties. 
It  was  sometimes,  though  not  often,  the 
amateur  who  planned  the  line  of  ascent,  and 
decided  when  the  attack  should  be  pressed 
and  when  it  should  be  abandoned.  It  was 
only  when  the  guide  had  made  repeated 
ascents  of  fashionable  peaks  that  the "  part 
played  by  the  amateur  became  less  and  less 
important.  Mountaineering  in  the  'fifties 
and  'sixties  was  in  many  ways  far  more 
arduous  than  it  is  to-day.  Club-huts  are 
now  scattered  through  the  Alps.  It  is  no 
longer  necessary  to  carry  firewood  and  sleep- 


138  THE  ALPS 

ing-bags  to  some  lonely  bivouac  beside  the 
banks  of  great  glaciers.  A  sudden  gust  of 
bad  weather  at  night  no  longer  means  that 
the  climber  starts  at  dawn  with  drenched 
clothes.  The  excellent  series  of  Climbers* 
Guides  give  minute  instructions  describing 
every  step  in  the  ascent.  The  maps  are 
reliable.  In  those  days,  guide-books  had 
still  to  be  written,  the  maps  were  romantic 
and  misleading,  and  the  discoverer  of  a  new 
pass  had  not  only  to  get  to  the  top,  he  had  also 
to  get  down  the  other  side.  What  precisely 
lay  beyond  the  pass,  he  did  not  know.  It 
might  be  an  impassable  glacier,  or  a  rock 
face  that  could  not  be  descended.  Almost 
every  new  pass  involved  the  possibility  of 
a  forced  bivouac. 

None  the  less,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
art  of  moimtaineering  has  advanced  more 
since  1865  than  it  did  in  the  preceding  half 
century.  There  is  a  greater  difference  be- 
tween the  ascent  of  the  Grepon  by  the  Mer  de 
Glace  Face,  or  the  Brouillard  Ridge  of  Mont 
Blanc,  than  between  the  Matterhom  and  the 
Gross  Glockner,  or  between  the  Weishom  and 
Mont  Blanc. 

The  art  of  mountaineering  is  half  physical 
and  half  mental.  He  who  can  justly  claim  the 
name  of  mountaineer  must  possess  the  power  to 
lead  up  rocks  and  snow,  and  to  cut  steps  in  ice. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH     139 

This  is  the  physical  side  of  the  business.  It 
is  important ;  but  the  charm  of  mountaineer- 
ing is  largely  intellectual.  The  mental  equip- 
ment of  the  mountaineer  involves  an  ex- 
haustive knowledge  of  one  of  the  most  ruthless 
aspects  of  Nature.  The  mountaineer  must 
know  the  hills  in  all  their  changing  moods 
and  tenses.  He  must  possess  the  power  to 
make  instant  use  of  trivial  clues,  a  power 
which  the  uninitiated  mistake  for  an  instinc- 
tive sense  of  direction.  Such  a  sense  js 
undoubtedly  possessed  by  a  small  minority, 
but  path- finding  is  often  usually  only  the 
subconscious  analysis  of  small  clues.  The 
mountaineer  must  understand  the  secrets  of 
snow,  rock,  and  ice.  He  must  be  able  to  tell 
at  a  glance  whether  a  snow  slope  is  dangerous, 
or  a  snow-bridge  likely  to  collapse.  He  must 
be  able  to  move  with  certainty  and  safety  on 
a  rock  face,  whether  it  is  composed  of  reUable, 
or  brittle  and  dangerous  rock.  All  this 
involves  knowledge  which  is  bom  of  experi- 
ence and  the  power  to  apply  experience. 
Every  new  peak  is  a  problem  for  the  intellect. 
Mountaineering,  however,  differs  radically  in 
one  respect  from  many  other  sports.  Most 
men  can  get  up  a  mountain  somehow,  and 
thereby  share  at  least  one  experience  of  the 
expert.  Of  every  hundred  boys  that  are 
dragooned  into  compulsory  cricket  at  school, 


140  THE  ALPS 

only  ten  could  ever  by  any  possible  chance 
qualify  to  play  in  first-class  cricket.  Almost 
all  of  them  could  reach  the  summit  of  a  first 
class  peak  if  properly  guided. 

But  this  is  not  mountaineering.  You  can- 
not pay  a  professional  to  take  your  place  at 
Lords'  and  then  claim  the  benefit  of  the 
century  he  knocks  up.  But  some  men  with 
great  Alpine  reputations  owe  everything  to 
the  professional  they  have  hired.  They  have 
good  wind  and  strong  legs.  With  a  stout 
rope  above,  they  could  follow  a  good  leader 
up  any  peak  in  the  Alps.  The  guide  was 
not  only  paid  to  lead  up  the  rocks  and  assist 
them  from  above.  He  was  paid  to  do  all 
the  thinking  that  was  necessary.  He  was 
the  brain  as  well  as  the  muscle  of  the  expedi- 
tion. He  solved  all  the  problems  that  Nature 
sets  the  climber,  and  mountaineering  for  his 
client  was  only  a  very  safe  form  of  exercise 
in   agreeable   surroundings. 

Leslie  Stephen  admitted  this,  and  he  had 
less  cause  to  admit  it  than  most.  "  I  utterly 
repudiate  the  doctrine  that  Alpine  travellers 
are,  or  ought  to  be,  the  heroes  of  Alpine 
adventure.  The  true  way,  at  least,  to  de- 
scribe all  my  Alpine  adventures  is  to  say  that 
Michael  Anderegg,  or  Lauener,  succeeded  in 
performing  a  feat  requiring  skill,  strength, 
and  courage,  the  difficulty  of  which  was  much 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    141 

increased  by  the  difficulty  of  taking  with  him 
his  knapsack  and  his  employer."  Now,  this 
does  less  than  justice  to  Leslie  Stephen,  and 
to  many  of  the  early  mountaineers.  Often 
they  supplied  the  brain  of  the  party,  and  the 
directing  energy.  They  were  pioneers.  Yet 
mountaineering  as  a  fine  art  owes  almost  as 
much  to  the  men  who  first  dispensed  with 
professional  assistance.  A  man  who  climbs 
habitually  with  guides  may  be,  and  often 
is,  a  fine  mountaineer.  He  need  be  nothing 
more  than  a  good  walker,  with  a  steady  head, 
to  achieve  a  desperate  reputation  among 
laymen. 

Many  of  the  early  pioneers  were  by  no 
means  great  athletes,  though  their  mountain- 
eering achievements  deceived  the  public  into 
crediting  them  with  superhuman  nerve  and 
strength.  Many  of  them  were  middle-aged 
gentlemen,  who  could  have  taken  no  part  in 
active  sports  which  demand  a  swift  alliance 
of  nerve  and  muscle;  but  who  were  quite 
capable  of  plugging  up  the  average  mixture 
of  easy  rock  and  snow  that  one  meets  on  the 
average  first-class  Alpine  peak.  They  had 
average  endurance,  and  more  than  average 
pluck,  for  the  prestige  of  the  unvanquished 
peaks  still  daunted  all  but  the  courageous. 

They  were  lucky  in  that  the  great  bulk  of 
Alpine  peaks  were  unconquered,   and  were 


142  THE  ALPS 

only  too  ready  to  be  conquered  by  the  first 
climber   who   could   hire   two   trusty   Swiss 
guides  to  cut  the  steps,  carry  the  knapsack, 
and  lead  up  the  rocks.     It  is  usually  said  of 
these  men :  "  They  could  not,  perhaps,  have 
tackled  the  pretty  rock  problems  in  which  the 
modern  cragsman  delights.     They  were  some- 
thing better  than  gymnasts.     They  were  all- 
round    mountaineers."      This    seems    rather 
special  pleading.     Some  one  said  that  moun- 
taineering seemed    to     be  walking   up    easy 
snow  mountains  between  guides,   and  mere 
cragsmanship  consisted  in  leading  up  difficult 
rock-peaks    without    guides.     It    does    not 
follow   that   a   man   who   can   lead   up   the 
Chamounix  aiguilles  knows  less  of  the  broader 
principles  of  mountaineering  than  the  gentle- 
man who  is  piloted  up  Mont  Blanc  by  sturdy 
Swiss   peasants.     The   issue   is   not  between 
those  who  confine  their  energies  to  gymnastic 
feats  on  Welsh  crags  and  the  wider  school 
who  understand  snow  and  ice  as  well  as  rock. 
The  issue  is  between  those  who  can  take  their 
proper  share  in  a  rock-climb  like  the  Grepon, 
or  a  difficult  ice  expedition  like  the  Brenva 
Mont  Blanc,  and  those  who  would  be  com- 
pletely at  a  loss  if  their  guides  broke  down 
on  an  easy  peak  like  the  Wetterhom.     The 
pioneers   did   not   owe   everything   to   their 
guides.     A  few  did,  but  most  of  them  were 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    143 

good  mountaineers  whose  opinion  was  often 
asked  by  the  professionals,  and  sometimes 
taken.  Yet  the  guided  climber,  then  and 
now,  missed  the  real  inwardness  of  the  sport. 
Mountaineering,  in  the  modern  sense,  is  a 
sport  unrivalled  in  its  appeal  to  mind  and 
body.  The  man  who  can  lead  on  a  series  of 
really  first-class  climbs  must  possess  great 
nerve,  and  a  specialised  knowledge  of 
mountains  that  is  almost  a  sixth  sense. 
Mountaineering  between  guides  need  not 
involve  anything  more  than  a  good  wind  and 
a  steady  head.  Anybody  can  get  up  a 
first-class  peak.  Only  one  amateur  in  ten 
can  complete  ascent  and  descent  with  safety 
if  called  on  to  lead. 

In  trying  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  our 
debt  to  the  early  English  pioneers,  we  have 
to  avoid  two  extremes.  We  must  remember 
the  parable  of  the  dwarf  standing  on  the 
giant's  shoulders.  It  ill  becomes  those  who 
owe  Climbers'  Guides,  and  to  some  extent 
good  maps,  to  the  labours  of  the  pioneers  to 
discount  their  achievements.  But  the  other 
extreme  is  also  a  danger.  We  need  not 
pretend  that  every  man  who  climbed  a 
virgin  peak  in  the  days  when  nearly  every 
big  peak  was  virgin  was  necessarily  a  fine 
mountaineer.  All  praise  is  due  to  the  earliest 
explorers,   men   like  Balmat,   Joseph   Beck, 


144  THE  ALPS 

Bourril,  De  Saussure,  and  the  Meyers,  for  in 
those  days  the  country  above  the  snow-line 
was  not  only  unknown,  it  was  full  of  imagined 
terrors.  These  men  did  a  magnificent  work 
in  robbing  the  High  Alps  of  their  chief 
defence — superstition.  But  in  the  late  'fifties 
and  early  'sixties  this  atmosphere  had  largely 
vanished.  Mr.  X  came  to  the  A  valley,  and 
discovered  that  the  B,  C,  or  D  horn  had  not 
been  climbed.  The  B,  C,  and  .D  horn  were 
average  peaks  with  a  certain  amount  of 
straightforward  snow  and  ice  work,  and  a 
certain  amount  of  straightforward  rock  work. 
Mr.  X  enjoys  a  fortnight  of  good  weather, 
and  the  services  of  two  good  guides.  He  does 
what  any  man  with  like  opportunities  would 
accomplish,  what  an  undergraduate  fresh  to 
the  Alps  could  accomplish  to-day  if  these  peaks 
had  been  obligingly  left  virgin  for  his  disposal. 
Many  of  the  pioneers  with  a  long  list  of  virgin 
peaks  to  their  credit  would  have  made  a  poor 
show  if  they  had  been  asked  to  lead  one  of 
the  easy  buttresses  of  Tryfan. 

Rock-climbing  as  a  fine  art  was  really 
undreamt  of  till  long  after  the  Matterhorn 
had  been  conquered.  The  layman  is  apt  to 
conceive  all  Alpine  climbs  as  a  succession 
of  dizzy  precipices.  To  a  man  brought  up 
on  Alpine  classics,  there  are  few  things  more 
disappointing  tha,n  the  ease  of  his  first  big 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  ENGLISH    145 

peak.  The  rock  work  on  the  average  Ober- 
land  or  Zermat  peaks  by  the  ordinary  route 
is  simple,  straightforward  scrambhng  up 
slopes  whose  average  inclination  is  nearer 
thirty  than  sixty  degrees.  It  is  the  sort  of 
thing  that  the  ordinary  man  can  do  by  the 
light  of  Nature.  Rock-climbing,  in  the  sense 
in  which  the  Dolomite  or  lake  climber  uses  the 
term,  is  an  art  which  calls  for  high  qualities  of 
nerve  and  physique.  Such  rock  climbing  was 
almost  unknown  till  some  time  after  the  close 
of  this  period.  No  modern  cragsman  would 
consider  the  Matterhom,  even  if  robbed  of  its 
fixed  ropes,  as  anything  but  a  straightforward 
piece  of  interesting  rock  work,  unless  he  was 
unlucky  enough  to  find  it  in  bad  condition. 
All  this  we  may  frankly  admit.  Mountaineer- 
ing as  an  art  was  only  in  its  infancy  when 
the  Matterhom  was  climbed.  And  yet  the 
Englishmen  whom  we  have  mentioned  in 
this  chapter  did  more  for  mountaineering 
than  any  of  their  successors  or  predecessors. 
Bourrit,  De  Saussure,  Beck,  Placidus  k 
Spescha,  and  the  other  pioneers  of  the  late 
eighteenth  and  early  nineteenth  century, 
deserve  the  greatest  credit.  But  their  spirited 
example  gave  no  general  impetus  to  the 
sport.  They  were  single-handed  mountain- 
eers; and  somehow  they  never  managed  to 
fire  the  world  with  their  own  enthusiasm. 

K 


146  THE  ALPS 

The  Englishmen  arrived  late  on  the  scene. 
The  great  giants  of  more  than  one  district 
had  been  climbed.  And  yet  mountaineering 
was  still  the  pursuit  of  a  few  isolated  men 
who  knew  little  or  nothing  of  their  brother 
climbers,  who  came  and  struggled  and  passed 
away  uncheered  by  the  inspiring  freemasonry 
of  a  band  of  workers  aiming  at  the  same  end. 
It  was  left  to  the  English  to  transform 
mountaineering  into  a  popular  sport.  Judged 
even  by  modern  standards  some  of  these  men 
were  fine  mountaineers,  none  the  less  in- 
dependent because  the  fashion  of  the  day 
decreed  that  guides  should  be  taken  on  difficult 
expeditions.  But  even  those  who  owed  the 
greater  part  of  their  success  to  their  guides 
were  inspired  by  the  same  enthusiasm  which, 
unlike  the  lonely  watchfires  of  the  earlier 
pioneers,  kindled  a  general  conflagration. 


CHAPTER  Vin 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  MATTEEHOEN 

The  history  of  mountaineering  contains 
nothing  more  dramatic  than  the  epic  of  the 
Matterhorn.  There  is  no  mountain  which 
appeals  so  readily  to  the  imagination.  Its 
unique  form  has  drawn  poetic  rhapsodies  from 
the  most  prosaic.  "  Men,"  says  Mr.  Whymper, 
"  who  ordinarily  spoke  or  wrote  like  rational 
beings  when  they  came  under  its  power  seemed 
to  quit  their  senses,  and  ranted,  and  rhap- 
sodied,  losing  for  a  time  all  common  forms  of 
speech.  Even  the  sober  De  Saussure  was 
moved  to  enthusiasm." 

If  the  Matterhorn  could  thus  inspire  men 
before  the  most  famous  siege  in  Alpine 
history  had  clothed  its  cliffs  in  romance, 
how  much  more  must  it  move  those  for  whom 
the  final  tragedy  has  become  historical? 
The  first  view  of  the  Matterhorn,  and  the 
moment  when  the  last  step  is  taken  on  to 
the  final  crest,  are  two  moments  which  the 
mountaineer  never  forgets.  Those  who  knew 
the  old  Zermat  are  unpleasantly  fond  of 
147 


148  THE  ALP^ 

reminding  us  that  the  railway  train  and  the 
monster  hotels  have  robbed  Zermat  of  its 
charm ;   while  the  fixed  ropes  and  sardine  tins 

[Those  dear  old  sardine  tins  !    Our  Alpine 

writers  would  run  short  of  satire  if  they  could 
not  invoke  their  aid] — have  finally  humiliated 
the  unvanquished  Titan.  It  may  be  so;  but 
it  is  easy  enough  to  recover  the  old  atmosphere. 
You  have  only  to  visit  Zermat  in  winter 
when  the  train  is  not  running.  A  long  trudge 
up  twenty  miles  of  shadowed,  frosty  valley, 
a  little  bluff  near  Randa,  and  the  Matterhom 
soars  once  more  into  a  stainless  sky.  There 
are  no  clouds,  and  probably  not  another 
stranger  in  the  valley.  The  hotels  are  closed 
the  sardine  tins  are  buried,  and  the  Matterhom 
renews  like  the  immortals  an  undying  youth. 
The  great  mountain  remained  unconquered 
mainly  because  it  inspired  in  the  hearts  of 
the  bravest  guides  a  despairing  belief  in  its 
inaccessibility.  "  There  seemed,"  writes  Mr. 
Whymper,  "to  be  a  cordon  drawn  round  it 
up  to  which  one  might  go,  but  no  further. 
Within  that  line  gins  and  efreets  were  sup- 
posed to  exist — the  wandering  Jew  and  the 
spirits  of  the  damned.  The  superstitious 
natives  in  the  surrounding  valleys  (many  of 
whom  firmly  believed  it  to  be  not  only  the 
highest  mountain  in  J;he  Alps,  but  in  the  world) 
spoke  of  a  ruined  city  on  the  simimit  wherein 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN     149 


the  spirits  dwelt;  and  if  you  laughed  they 
gravely  shook  their  heads,  told  you  to  look 
yourself   to   see   the   castle   and   walls,    and 


miEKetiAoowsaenD 


vziPor-nrHOiE  bodiss 

WERE  FOUND 
MArteRBOIUI  GlAaCft 


I. — THE  MATTERHORN  FROM  THE  NORTH-HAST  (ZERMAT). 

The  left-hand  ridge  in  the  Furgg  Grat  and  the  shoulder  (F.S.)  is  the 
Furgg  shoulder  from  which  Mummery  traversed  across  to  the  Swiss  face 
on  his  attempt  on  the  Furgg  Grat. 

The  central  ridge  is  the  North-east  ridge.  N.E.  is  the  point  where 
the  climb  begins.  S  is  the  Swiss  shoulder,  A  the  Swiss  summit, 
B  the  Italian  summit.  The  route  of  the  first  ascent  is  marked.  Now- 
adays it  is  usual  to  keep  closer  to  the  ridge  in  the  eady  part  of  the 
climb  and  to  climb  from  the  shoulder  8  to  the  summit  A.  Fixed 
ropes  hang  throughout  this  section.  T  is  the  group  of  rocky  teeth  on 
the  Zmutt  ridge. 

warned   one   against   a   rash   approach,    lest 
the  infuriated  demons  from  their  impregnable 
heights  might  hurl  down  vengeance  for  one's 
derision." 
Those  who  have  a  sense  for  the  dramatic 


150  THE   ALPS 

unities  will  feel  that,  for  once  in  a  way,  Life 
lived  up  to  the  conventions  of  Art,  and 
that  even  a  great  dramatist  could  scarcely 
have  bettered  the  materials  afforded  by  the 
history  of  the  Matterhorn.  As  the  story 
unfolds  itself  one  can  scarcely  help  attributing 
some  fatal  personality  to  the  inanimate  cUffs. 
In  the  Italian  valley  of  Breuil,  the  Becca,  as 
the  Matterhorn  used  to  be  called,  was  for 
centuries  the  embodiment  of  supernatural 
terror.  Mothers  would  frighten  their  children 
by  threats  that  the  wild  man  of  the  Becca 
would  carry  them  away.  And  if  the  children 
asked  how  the  Matterhorn  was  bom,  they 
would  reply  that  in  bygone  years  there  dwelt 
a  giant  in  Aosta  named  Gargantua,  who  was 
once  seized  with  a  longing  for  the  country 
beyond  the  range  of  peaks  that  divide  Italy 
from  Switzerland.  Now,  in  those  far  off 
times,  the  mountains  of  the  great  barrier 
formed  one  uniform  ridge  instead  of  (as  now)  a 
series  of  peaks.  The  giant  strode  over  this 
range  with  one  step.  As  he  stood  with  one 
foot  in  Switzerland  and  the  other  in  Italy,  the 
surrounding  rocks  fell  away,  and  the  pyramid 
of  cliffs  caught  between  his  legs  alone  remained. 
And  thus  was  the  Matterhorn  formed.  There 
were  many  such  legends ;  the  reader  may  find 
them  in  Whymper  and  Guido  Rey.  They 
were  enough  to  daiuit  all  but  the  boldest. 


152  THE  ALPS 

The  drama  of  the  Matterhorn  opens  apprO' 
priately  enough  with  the  three  men  who  first 
showed  a  contempt  for  the  superstitions 
that  surrounded  the  Becea.  The  story  of 
that  first  attempt  is  told  in  Guido  Rey's 
excellent  monograph  on  the  Matterhorn,  a 
monograph  which  has  been  translated  by 
Mr.  Eaton  into  English  as  spirited  as  the 
original  Italian.  This  opening  bout  with  the 
Becca  took  place  in  1858.  Three  natives 
of  Breuil,  the  little  Italian  valley  at  the  foot 
of  the  Matterhorn,  met  before  dawn  at  the 
chalet  of  Avouil.  Of  these,  Jean  Jacques 
Carrel  was  in  command.  He  was  a  mighty 
hunter,  and  a  fine  mountaineer.  The  second, 
Jean  Antoine  Carrel,  "  il  Bersaglier,"  was 
destined  to  play  a  leading  part  in  the  conflict 
that  was  to  close  seven  years  later.  Jean 
Antoine  was  something  more  than  a  great 
guide.  He  was  a  ragged,  independent  moun- 
taineer, di,fiicult  to  control,  a  great  leader,  but 
a  poor  follower.  He  was  an  old  soldier,  and 
had  fought  at  Novara.  The  third  of  these 
young  climbers  was  Aim6  Gorret,  a  young  boy 
of  twenty  destined  for  the  Church.  His 
solitary  rambles  among  the  hills  had  filled 
him  with  a  passionate  worship  of  the 
Matterhorn. 

Without  proper  provisions  or  gear,  these 
three   light-hearted   knights   set  forth   gaily 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    158 

on  their  quest.  They  mistook  the  way ;  and, 
reaching  a  spot  that  pleased  them,  they 
wasted  hours  in  hurling  rocks  down  a  cliff — 
a  fascinating  pursuit.  When  they  reached 
the  point  now  known  as  the  Tete  du  Lion 
(12,215  feet)  they  contemplated  the  Matter- 
horn  which  rose  definitely  beyond  an  interven- 
ing gap.  They  looked  at  their  great  foe  with 
quiet  assurance.  The  Becca  would  not  run 
away.  Nobody  else  was  likely  to  try  a  throw 
with  the  local  giant.  One  day  they  would 
come  back  and  settle  the  issue.  There  was 
no  immediate  hurry. 

In  1860  a  daring  attempt  was  made  by 
Messrs.  Alfred,  Charles,  and  Sanbach  Parker 
of  Liverpool.  These  bold  climbers  dispensed 
with  guides,  and  had  the  wisdom  to  attack 
the  east  face  that  rises  above  Zermat.  All 
the  other  early  explorers  attacked  the  Italian 
ridge;  and,  as  will  be  seen,  the  first  serious 
assault  on  the  eastern  face  succeeded.  Lack 
of  time  prevented  the  Parkers  from  reaching 
a  greater  height  than  12,000  feet;  nor  were 
they  more  successful  in  the  following  year, 
but  they  had  made  a  gallant  attempt,  for 
which  they  deserve  credit.  In  1860  another 
party  had  assailed  the  mountain  from  Italy, 
and  reached  a  height  of  about  13,000  feet. 
The  party  consisted  of  Vaughan  Hawkins 
and  Prof.  Tyndall,  whom  be  had  invited  to 


154  THE  ALPS 

join  the  party,  with  the  guides  J.  J.  Carrel 
and  Bennen. 

In  1861  Edward  Whymper,  who  had  opened 
his  Alpine  career  in  the  previous  year,  returned 
to  the  Alps  determined  to  conquer  two  virgin 
summits  of  the  Alps,  the  Matterhom  and  the 
Weishorn.  On  arriving  at  Chatillon,  he 
learned  that  the  Weishorn  had  been  climbed 
by  Tyndall,  and  that  Tyndall  was  at  Breuil 
intending  to  add  the  Matterhom  to  his  con- 
quests. Whymper  determined  to  anticipate 
him.  He  arrived  at  Breuil  on  August  28,  with 
an  Oberland  guide,  and  inquired  for  the 
best  man  in  the  valley.  The  knowing  ones 
with  a  voice  recommended  Jean  Antoine 
Carrel,  a  member  of  the  first  party  to  set 
foot  on  the  Matterhom.  "  We  sought,  of 
course,  for  Carrel,  and  found  him  a  well-made, 
resolute  looking  fellow,  with  a  certain  defiant 
air  which  was  rather  taking.  Yes,  he  would 
go.  Twenty  francs  a  day,  whatever  the 
result,  was  his  price.  I  assented.  But  I 
must  take  his  comrade.  As  he  said  this, 
an  evil  countenance  came  forth  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  proclaimed  itself  the  comrade. 
I  demurred,  and  negotiations  were  broken 
off." 

At  Breuil,  they  tried  to  get  another  man 
to  accompany  them  but  without  success. 
The  men  they  approached  either  would  not 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    155 

go  or  asked  a  prohibitive  price.  "  This,  it 
may  be  said  once  and  for  all,  was  the  reason 
why  so  many  futile  attempts  were  made  on 
the  Matterhorn.  One  guide  after  another 
was  brought  up  to  the  mountain  and  patted 
on  the  back,  but  all  declined  the  business. 
The  men  who  went  had  no  heart  in  the  matter, 
and  took  the  first  opportunity  to  turn  back. 
For  they  were,  with  the  exception  of  the  man 
to  whom  reference  will  be  made  [J.  A.  Carrel] 
universally  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
the  smnmit  was  entirely  inaccessible." 

Whymper  and  his  guide  bivouacked  in  a 
cowshed;  and  as  night  approached  they  saw 
J.  A.  Carrel  and  his  companion  stealing  up 
the  hillside.  Whymper  asked  them  if  they 
had  repented,  .and  would  join  his  party. 
They  replied  that  they  had  contemplated 
an  independent  assault.  "  Oh,  then,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  have  more  than  three." 
"  Not  for  us."  "  I  admired  their  pluck  and 
had  a  strong  inclination  to  engage  the  pair, 
but  finally  decided  against  it.  The  companion 
turned  out  to  be  J.  J.  Carrel.  Both  were 
bold  mountaineers;  but  Jean  Antoine  was 
incomparably  the  better  of  the  two,  and  was 
the  finest  rock  climber  I  have  ever  seen. 
He  was  the  only  man  who  persistently  refused 
to  accept  defeat,  and  who  continued  to  believe, 
in  spite  of  all  discouragements,  that  the  great 


156  THE  ALPS 

mountain  was  not  inaccessible,  and  that  it 
could  be  ascended  from  the  side  of  his  native 
valley." 

Carrel  was  something  more  than  a  great 
guide.  He  remained  a  soldier  long  after  he 
had  laid  down  his  sword.  He  was,  above  all, 
an  Italian,  determined  to  climb  the  Matterhorn 
by  the  great  Italian  ridge,  to  climb  it  for  the 
honour  of  Italy,  and  for  the  honour  of  his 
native  valley.  The  two  great  moments  of 
his  life  were  those  in  which  he  heard  the  shouts 
of  victory  at  Colle  di  Santiarno,  and  the  cries 
of  triumph  on  the  summit  of  the  Italian  ridge. 
Whymper,  and  later  Tyndall,  found  him  an 
awkward  man  to  deal  with.  He  had  the 
rough,  undisciplined  nature  of  the  mountain 
he  loved.  He  looked  on  the  Matterhorn  as 
a  kind  of  preserve,  and  was  determined  that 
he  and  no  other  should  lead  on  the  final 
and  successful  ascent.  Wh3rmper's  first 
attempt  failed  owing  to  the  poor  qualities 
of  his  guide;  and  the  Carrels  were  not  more 
successful. 

During  the  three  years  that  followed, 
Whymper  made  no  less  than  six  attempts 
to  climb  the  Matterhorn.  On  one  occasion 
he  climbed  alone  and  unaided  higher  than 
any  of  his  predecessors.  Without  guides 
or  companions,  he  reached  a  height  of  13,500 
feet.     There  is  little  to  be  said  for  solitary 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    157 

climbing,  but  this  feat  stands  out  as  one 
of  the  boldest  achievements  of  the  period. 
The  critics  of  solitary  scrambling  need,  how- 
ever, look  no  further  than  its  sequel  for  their 
moral.  In  attempting  to  negotiate  a  corner 
on  the  T^te  du  Lion,  Whymper  slipped  and 
fell.  He  shot  down  an  ice  slope,  slid  and 
bounded  through  a  vertical  height  of  about 
200  feet,  and  was  eventually  thrown  against 
the  side  of  a  gully  where  it  narrowed.  Another 
ten  feet  would  have  taken  him  in  one  terrific 
bound  of  800  feet  on  to  the  glacier  below. 
The  blood  was  pulsing  out  of  numerous  cuts. 
He  plastered  up  the  wounds  in  his  head  with 
a  lump  of  snow  before  scrambling  up  into 
a  place  of  safety,  where  he  promptly  fainted 
away.  He  managed,  however,  to  reach  Breuil 
without  further  adventure.  Within  a  week 
he  had  returned  to  the  attack. 

He  made  two  further  attempts  that  year 
which  failed  for  various  reasons;  but  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Tyndall  fail  when 
success  seemed  assured.  Tyndall  had  brought 
with  him  the  great  Swiss  guide  Bennen,  and  a 
Valaisian  guide  named  Walter  Anton.  He 
engaged  Jean  Antoine  and  Caesar  Carrel. 
They  proposed  to  attack  the  mountain  by 
the  Italian  ridge.  Next  morning,  somebody 
ran  in  to  tell  Whymper  that  a  flag  had  been 
seen  on  the  summit.     This  proved  a  false 


158  THE  ALPS 

alarm.  Whymper  waited  through  the  long 
day  to  greet  the  party  on  then*  return.  "  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  leave,  but  lingered 
about  as  a  foolish  lover  hovers  round  the 
object  of  his  affections  even  after  he  has  been 
rejected.  The  sun  had  set  before  the  men 
were  discerned  coming  over  the  pastures. 
There  was  no  spring  in  their  steps — they,  too, 
were  defeated." 

Prof.  Tyndall  told  Whymper  that  he  had 
arrived  "  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  sum- 
mit " — the  mountain  is  14,800  feet  high, 
14,600  feet  had  been  climbed.  "  He  greatly 
deceived  himself,"  said  Whymper,  "  for  the 
point  which  he  reached  is  no  less  than  800  feet 
below  the  siunmit.  The  failure  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  Carrels  had  been  engaged 
in  a  subordinate  capacity.  When  they  were 
appealed  to  for  their  opinion,  they  replied : 
"  We  are  porters,  ask  your  guides."  Carrel 
always  determined  that  the  Matterhorn  should 
be  climbed  from  Italy,  and  that  the  leader 
of  the  climb  should  be  an  Italian.  Bennen 
was  a  Swiss  and  Carrel  had  been  engaged  as  a 
second  guide.  Tyndall  and  Whymper  found 
it  necessary  to  champion  their  respective 
guides.  Carrel  and  Bennen;  and  a  more  or 
less  heated  controversy  was  carried  on  in  the 
pages  of  The  Alpine  Journal. 

The  Matterhorn  was  left  in  peace  till  the 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    159 

next  year,  but,  meanwhile,  a  conspiracy  for 
its  downfall  was  hatched  in  Italy.  The  story 
is  told  in  Guido  Rey's  classic  book  on  the 
Matterhorn,  a  book  which  should  be  read  side 
by  side  with  Whymper's  Scrambles,  as  it  gives 
the  Italian  version  of  the  final  stages  in  which 
Italy  and  England  fought  for  the  great  prize. 
In  1863,  some  leading  Italian  mountaineers 
gathered  together  at  Turin  to  found  an  Italian 
Alpine  Club.  Amongst  these  were  two  well- 
known  scientists,  Felice  Giordano  and  Quintino 
Sella.  They  vowed  that,  as  English  climbers 
had  robbed  them  of  Monte  Viso,  prince  of 
Piedmontese  peaks,  Italy  should  have  the 
honour  of  conquering  the  Matterhorn,  and 
that  Italians  should  climb  it  from  Italy  by 
the  Italian  ridge.  The  task  was  offered  to 
Giordano,  who  accepted  it. 

In  1868  Whymper  and  Carrel  made  another 
attempt  on  the  Matterhorn,  which  was  foiled 
by  bad  weather.  In  the  next  year,  the 
mountain  was  left  alone;  but  the  plot  for  its 
downfall  began  to  mature.  Giordano  and 
Sella  had  met  Carrel,  and  had  extracted  from 
him  promises  of  support.  Carrel  was,  above 
all,  an  Italian,  and,  other  things  being  equal, 
he  would  naturally  prefer  to  lead  an  Italian, 
rather  than  an  English,  party  to  the  summit. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  closing  scenes. 
In  1865  Whymper  returned  to  the  attack, 


160  THE  ALPS 

heartily  tired  of  the  Italian  ridge.  With 
the  great  guides  Michel  Croz  and  Christian 
Aimer,  Whymper  attempted  to  reach  the 
summit  by  a  rock  couloir  that  starts  from  near 
the  Breuiljoch,  and  terminates  high  up  on 
the  Furggen  arete.  This  was  a  mad  scheme; 
and  the  route  they  chose  was  the  most  im- 
practicable of  all  the  routes  that  had  ever  been 
attempted  on  the  Matterhorn.  Even  to-day, 
the  great  couloir  has  not  been  climbed,  and 
the  top  half  of  the  Furggen  ridge  has  only 
been  once  ascended  (or  rather  outflanked  on 
the  Italian  side),  an  expedition  of  great  danger 
and  difficulty.  Foiled  in  this  attempt, 
Whymper  turned  his  attention  to  the  Swiss 
face.  The  eastern  face  is  a  fraud.  From 
the  Riffel  and  from  Zermat,  it  appears  almost 
perpendicular;  but  when  seen  in  profile  from 
the  Zmutt  glacier  it  presents  a  very  different 
appearance.  The  average  angle  of  the  slope 
as  far  as  "  the  shoulder,"  about  18,925  feet, 
is  about  thirty  degrees.  From  here  to  the 
summit  the  angle  steepens  considerably  but 
is  never  more  than  fifty  degrees.  The  wonder 
is  that  Whymper,  who  had  studied  the  moun- 
tain more  than  once  from  the  Zmutt  glacier, 
still  continued  his  attempts  on  the  difficult 
Italian  ridge. 

On  the  8th  of  June  1865,  Whymper  arrived 
in  Breuil,  and  explained  to  Carrel  his  change 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    161 

of  plan.  He  engaged  Carrel,  and  made  plans 
for  his  attack  on  the  Swiss  face,  promising 
Carrel  that,  if  that  failed,  they  should  return 
to  the  Italian  ridge.  Jean  Antoine  told 
Whymper  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  serve 
him  after  the  11th,  as  he  was  engaged  to 
travel  "  with  a  family  of  distinction  in  the 
valley  of  Aosta."  Whymper  asked  him  why 
he  had  not  told  him  this  before;  and  he 
replied  that  the  engagement  had  been  a  long- 
standing one,  but  that  the  actual  day  had  not 
been  fixed.  Whymper  was  annoyed;  but 
he  could  find  no  fault  with  the  answer,  and 
parted  on  friendly  terms  with  Carrel.  But 
the  family  of  distinction  was  no  other  than 
Giordano.  "  You  are  going  to  leave  me," 
Whymper  had  said  to  Carrel,  "  to  travel 
with  a  party  of  ladies.  The  work  is  not  fit 
for  you."  Carrel  had  smiled;  and  Whymper 
had  taken  the  smile  as  a  recognition  of  the 
implied  compliment.  Carrel  smiled  because 
he  knew  that  the  work  he  had  in  hand  was 
more  fitted  for  him  than  for  any  other  man. 
On  the  7th,  Giordano  had  written  to  Sella  : 

"  Let  us,  then,  set  out  to  attack  this  Devil's 
mountain;  and  let  us  see  that  we  succeed, 
if  only  Whymper  has  not  been  beforehand 
with  us."  On  the  11th,  he  wrote  again:  "Dear 
Quintino,  It  is  high  time  for  me  to  send  you 


162  THE   ALPS 

news  from  here.  I  reached  Valtoumanche 
on  Saturday  at  midday.  There  I  found 
Carrel,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  recon- 
noitring expedition  on  the  Matterhorn,  which 
had  proved  a  failure  owing  to  bad  weather. 
Whymper  had  arrived  two  or  three  days 
before;  as  usual,  he  wished  to  make  the 
ascent,  and  had  engaged  Carrel,  who,  not 
having  had  my  letters,  had  agreed,  but  for 
a  few  days  only.  Fortunately,  the  weather 
turned  bad,  Whymper  was  unable  to  make  his 
fresh  attempt ;  and  Carrel  left  him,  and  came 
with  me  together  with  five  other  picked  men 
who  are  the  best  guides  in  the  valley.  We 
immediately  sent  off  our  advance  guard  with 
Carrel  at  its  head.  In  order  not  to  excite 
remark,  we  took  the  rope  and  other  materials 
to  Avouil,  a  hamlet  which  is  very  remote  and 
close  to  the  Matterhorn;  and  this  is  to  be 
our  lower'  base.  ...  I  have  tried  to  keep 
everything  secret;  but  that  fellow,  whose 
life  seems  to  depend  on  the  Matterhorn,  is 
here  suspiciously  prying  into  everything.  I 
have  taken  all  the  competent  men  away  from 
him;  and  yet  he  is  so  enamoured  of  the 
mountain  that  he  may  go  with  others  and 
make  a  scene.  He  is  here  in  this  hdtel,  and 
I  try  to  avoid  speaking  to  him." 

Whymper  discovered  on  the  10th  the  iden- 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    168 

tity  of  the  "  family  of  distinction."  He  was 
furious.  He  considered,  with  some  show  of 
justification,  that  he  had  been  "  bamboozled 
and  humbugged." 

The  Italian  party  had  already  started  for 
the  Matterhorn,  with  a  large  store  of  pro- 
visions. They  were  an  advance  party  de- 
signed to  find  and  facilitate  the  way.  They 
would  take  their  time.  Whymper  took 
courage.  On  the  11th,  a  party  arrived  from 
Zermat  across  the  Th^odule.  One  of  these 
proved  to  be  Lord  Francis  Douglas,  who, 
a  few  days  previously,  had  made  the  second 
ascent  of  the  Gabelhorn,  and  the  first  from 
Zinal.  Lord  Francis  was  a  young  and  am- 
bitious climber;  and  he  was  only  too  glad 
to  join  Whymper  in  an  attack  on  the  Swiss 
face  of  the  Matterhorn.  They  crossed  to 
Zermat  together  on  the  12th,  and  there  dis- 
covered Mr.  Hudson,  a  great  mountaineer, 
accompanied  by  the  famous  guide  Michel 
Croz,  who  had  arrived  at  Zermat  with  the 
Matterhorn  in  view.  They  agreed  to  join 
forces;  and  Hudson's  friend  Hadow  was 
admitted  to  the  party.  Hadow  was  a  young 
man  of  nineteen  who  had  just  left  Harrow. 
Whymper  seemed  doubtful  of  his  ability; 
but  Hudson  reassured  him  by  remarking 
that  Mr.  Hadow  had  done  Mont  Blanc  in 
less  time  than  most  men.     Peter  Taugwalder, 


164  THE  ALPS 

Lord  Francis's  guide,  and  Peter's  two  sons 
completed  the  party.  On  the  13th  of  July 
they  left  Zermat. 

On  the  14th  of  July  Giordano  wrote  a  short 
letter  every  line  of  which  is  alive  with  grave 
triumph.  "  At  2  p.m.  to  day  I  saw  Carrel 
&  Co.,  on  the  top  of  the  Matterhom."  Poor 
Giordano  I  The  morrow  was  to  bring  a  sad 
disappointment;  and  his  letter  dated  the 
15th  of  July  contains  a  pregnant  sentence : 
"  Although  every  man  did  his  duty,  it  is  a 
lost  battle,  and  I  am  in  great  grief." 

This  is  what  had  happened.  Whymper 
and  his  companions  had  left  Zermat  on  the 
13th  at  half-past  five.  The  day  was  cloud- 
less. They  mounted  leisurely,  and  arrived 
at  the  base  of  the  actual  peak  about  half-past 
eleven.  Once  fairly  on  the  great  ©astern  face, 
they  were  astonished  to  find  that  places  which 
looked  entirely  impracticable  from  the  Riffel 
"  were  so  easy  that  they  could  run  about." 
By  mid-day  they  had  found  a  suitable  place 
for  the  tent  at  a  height  of  about  11,000 
feet.  Croz  and  young  Peter  Taugwalder 
went  on  to  explore.  They  returned  at  about 
8  p.m.  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  There 
was  no  difficulty.  They  could  have  gone  to 
the  top  that  day  and  returned.  ..."  Long 
after  dusk,  the  cliffs  above  echoed  with  our 
laughter,  and  with  the  songs  of  the  guides. 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN     165 

for  we  were  happy  that  night  in  camp,  and 
feared  no  evil." 

Whymper's  story  is  told  with  simplicity 
and  restraint.  He  was  too  good  a  craftsman 
to  spoil  a  great  subject  by  unnecessary  strokes. 
They  started  next  day  before  dawn.  They 
had  left  Zeraiat  on  the  13th,  and  they  left 
their  camp  on  a  Friday  (the  superstitious 
noted  these  facts  when  the  whole  disastrous 
story  was  known).  The  whole  of  the  great 
eastern  slope  "  was  now  revealed,  rising  for 
3000  feet  like  a  huge  natural  staircase.  Some 
parts  were  more  and  others  were  less  easy; 
but  we  were  not  once  brought  to  a  halt  by 
any  serious  impediment.  .  .  .  For  the  greater 
part  of  the  way  there  was  no  need  for  the 
rope,  and  sometimes  Hudson  led,  and  some- 
times myself."  When  they  arrived  at  the 
snow  ridge  now  known  as  "  The  Shoulder," 
which  is  some  500  feet  below  the  sum- 
mit, they  turned  over  on  to  the  northern 
face.  This  proved  more  difficult;  but  the 
general  angle  of  the  slope  was  nowhere  more 
than  forty  degrees.  Hadow's  want  of  experi- 
ence began  to  tell,  and  he  required  a  certain 
amount  of  assistance.  "  The  solitary  diffi- 
cult part  was  of  no  great  extent.  ...  A 
long  stride  round  a  rather  awkward  corner 
brought  us  to  snow  once  more.  The  last 
doubt  had  vanished.     The  Matterhorn  was 


166  THE  ALPS 

ours.  Nothing  but  200  feet  of  easy  snow 
remained  to  be  surmounted." 

But  they  were  not  yet  certain  that  they 
had  not  been  beaten.  The  Italians  had  left 
Breuil  four  days  before.  All  through  the 
climb,  false  alarms  had  been  raised  of  men 
on  the  top.  The  excitement  became  intense. 
"  The  slope  eased  off;  at  length  we  could  be 
detached;  and  Croz  and  I,  dashing  away, 
ran  a  neck-and-neck  race  which  ended  in  a 
dead  heat.  At  1.40  p.m.  the  world  was  at 
our  feet,  and  the  Matterhorn  was  conquered." 

No  footsteps  could  be  seen ;  but  the  summit 
of  the  Matterhorn  consists  of  a  rudely  level 
ridge  about  350  feet  in  length,  and  the  Italians 
might  have  been  at  the  further  end.  Whym- 
per  hastened  to  the  Italian  summit,  and  again 
found  the  snow  untrodden.  They  peered  over 
the  ridge,  and  far  below  on  the  right  caught 
sight  of  the  Italian  party.  "  Up  went  my 
arms  and  hat.  '  Croz,  Croz,  come  here  ! ' 
'  Where  are  they,  monsieur  ?  '  '  There,  don't 
you  see  them,  down  there.'  '  Ah,  the  coquins, 
they  are  low  down.'  '  Croz,  we  must  make 
those  fellows  hear  us.'  They  yelled  until 
they  were  hoarse.  '  Croz,  we  must  make 
them  hear  us,  they  shall  hear  us.'"  Whymper 
seized  a  block  of  rock  and  hurled  it  down, 
and  called  on  his  companion  to  do  the  same. 
They    drove   their    sticks    in,    and    soon   a 


167 


168  THE  ALPS 

whole  torrent  was  pouring  down.  "There 
was  no  mistake  about  it  this  time.  The 
Italians  turned  and  fled." 

Croz  planted  a  tent-pole  which  they  had 
taken  with  them,  though  Whymper  protested 
that  it  was  tempting  Providence,  and  fixed 
his  blouse  to  it.  A  poor  flag — but  it  was 
seen  everywhere.  At  Breuil — as  we  have 
seen — they  cheered  the  Italian  victory.  But 
on  the  morrow  the  explorers  returned  down- 
hearted. "  The  old  legends  are  true — there 
are  spirits  on  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn.  We 
saw  them  ourselves — they  hurled  stones  at 
us." 

We  may  aUow  this  dramatic  touch  to  pass 
unchallenged,  though,  whatever  Carrel  may 
have  said  to  his  friends,  he  made  it  quite 
clear  to  Giordano  that  he  had  identified  the 
turbulent  spirits,  for,  in  the  letter  from  which 
we  have  quoted,  Giordano  tells  his  friends 
that  Carrel  had  seen  Whymper  on  the  summit. 
It  might,  perhaps,  be  worth  while  to  add  that 
the  stones  Whymper  hurled  down  the  ridge 
could  by  no  possible  chance  have  hit  Carrel's 
party.  "  Still,  I  would,"  writes  Whjrmper, 
*'  that  the  leader  of  that  party  could  have 
stood  with  us  at  that  moment,  for  our  victo- 
rious shouts  conveyed  to  him  the  disappoint- 
ment of  a  lifetime.  He  was  the  man  of  all 
those  who  attempted  the  ascent  of  the  Matter- 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN     169 

horn  who  most  deserved  to  be  first  upon  its 
summit.  He  was  the  first  to  doubt  its  in- 
accessibility; and  he  was  the  only  man  who 
persisted  in  believing  that  its  ascent  would  be 
accomplished.  It  was  the  aim  of  his  life 
to  make  the  ascent  from  the  side  of  Italy, 
for  the  honour  of  his  native  valley.  For  a 
time,  he  had  the  game  in  his  hands ;  he  played 
it  as  he  thought  best;  but  he  made  a  false 
move,  and  he  lost  it." 

After  an  hour  on  the  summit,  they  prepared 
to  descend.  The  order  of  descent  was  curious. 
Croz,  as  the  best  man  in  the  party,  should  have 
been  placed  last.  As  a  matter  of  history,  he 
led,  followed,  in  this  order,  by  Hadow,  Hudson, 
Douglas,  and  Peter  Taugwalder.  Whymper 
was  sketching  while  the  party  was  being 
arranged.  They  were  waiting  for  him  to 
tie  on  when  somebody  suggested  that  the 
names  had  not  been  left  in  a  bottle.  While 
Whymper  put  this  right,  the  rest  of  the  party 
moved  on.  A  few  minutes  later  Whymper 
tied  on  to  young  Peter,  and  followed  detached 
from  the  others.  Later,  Douglas  asked 
Whjrmper  to  attach  himself  to  old  Taugwalder, 
as  he  feared  that  Taugwalder  would  not  be 
able  to  hold  his  ground  in  the  event  of  a  slip. 
About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Michel 
Croz,  who  had  laid  aside  his  axe,  faced  the  rock, 
and,  in  order  to  give  Hadow  greater  security. 


170  THE  ALPS 

was  putting  his  feet  one  by  cme  into  their 
proper  position.  Croz  then  turned  round  to 
advance  ^another  step  when^Hadow  slipped, 
fell  against  Croz,  and  knocked  him  over.  "  I 
heard  one  startled  exclamation  from  Croz, 
and  then  saw  him  and  Mr.  Hadow  flying  down- 
wards; in  another  moment  Hudson  was 
dragged  from  his  steps,  and  Lord  Francis 
Douglas  immediately  after  him.  All  this 
was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Lnmediately 
we  heard  Croz's  exclamation,  old  Peter  and  I 
planted  ourselves  as  firmly  as  the  rocks  would 
permit :  the  rope  was  taut  between  us,  and 
the  jerk  came  on  us  both  as  on  one  man. 
We  held  :  but  the  rope  broke  midway  between 
Taugwalder  and  Lord  Francis  Douglas.  For 
a  few  seconds,  we  saw  our  unfortimate  com- 
panions sliding  downwards  on  their  backs, 
and  spreading  out  their  hands  endeavouring 
to  save  themselves.  They  passed  from  our 
sight  uninjured,  disappeared  one  by  one, 
and  then  fell  from  precipice  to  precipice  on 
to  the  Matterhomgletscher  below,  a  distance 
of  nearly  4000  feet  in  height.  From  the 
moment  the  rope  broke,  it  was  impossible 
to  help  them."    - 

For  half-an-ho'u*,  Whymper  and  the  two 
Taugwalders  remained  on  the  spot  without 
moving.  The  two  guides  cried  like  children. 
Whymper  was  fixed  between  the  older  and 


r 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    171 

younger  Taugwalder,  and  must  have  heartily 
regretted  that  he  left  young  Peter  the  responsi- 
bility of  last  man  down,  for  the  young  man  was 
paralysed  with  terror,  and  refused  to  move. 
At  last,  he  descended,  and  they  stood  together. 
Whymper  asked  immediately  for  the  end  of 
the  rope  that  had  given  way,  and  noticed 
with  horror  that  it  was  the  weakest  of  the 
three  ropes.  It  had  never  been  intended  to 
use  it  save  as  a  reserve  in  case  much  rope  had 
to  be  left  behind  to  attach  to  the  rocks. 

For  more  than  two  hours  after  the  fall, 
Wh5rmper  expected  that  the  Taugwalders 
would  fall.  They  were  utterly  unnerved.  At 
6  p.m.  they  arrived  again  on  the  snow 
shoulder.  "We  frequently  looked,  but  in 
vain,  for  traces  of  our  unfortunate  companions ; 
we  bent  over  the  ridge  and  cried  to  them, 
but  no  sound  returned.  Convinced  at  last 
that  they  were  neither  within  sight  nor  hear- 
ing, we  ceased  from  our  useless  efforts;  and, 
too  cast  down  for  speech,  silently  gathered 
up  our  things,  and  the  little  effects  of  those 
who  were  lost,  preparatory  to  continuing  the 
descent." 

As  they  started  down,  the  Taugwalders 
raised  the  problem  as  to  their  payment. 
Lord  Francis  being  dead.  "  They  filled," 
remarks  Whymper,  "the  cup  of  bitterness 
to  overflowing,   and   I  tore   down  the   cliff 


172  THE  ALPS 

madly  and  recklessly  in  a  way  that  caused 
them  more  than  once  to  inquire  if  I  wished 
to  kill  them."  The  whole  party  spent  the 
night  on  a  miserable  ledge.  Next  day,  they 
descended  in  safety  to  Zermat.  Seiler  met 
them  at  the  door  of  his  hotel.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?  "  "  The  Taugwalders  and  I  have 
returned."  He  did  not  need  more,  and  burst 
into  tears,  but  lost  no  time  in  needless  lamenta- 
tions, and  set  to  work  to  rouse  the  village. 

On  Sunday  morning,  Whymper  set  out  with 
the  Rev.  Canon  M'Cormick  to  recover  the 
bodies  of  his  friends.  The  local  cure  threat- 
ened with  excommunication  any  guide  who 
neglected  Mass  in  order  to  attend  the  search 
party.  "  To  several,  at  least,  this  was  a 
severe  trial.  Peter  Perm  declared,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  that  nothing  else  would 
have  prevented  him  joining  in  the  search." 
Guides  from  other  valleys  joined  the  party. 
At  8.80  they  got  to  the  plateau  at  the  top  of 
the  glacier.  They  found  Hudson,  Croz  and 
Hadow,  but "  of  Lord  Francis  Douglas  nothing 
was  seen." 

This  accident  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through 
the  civilised  world.  The  old  file  of  The  Times, 
which  is  well  worth  consulting,  bears  tribute 
to  the  profound  sensation  which  the  news  of 
this  great  tragedy  aroused.  Idle  rmnours  of 
every  kind  were  afloat — with  these  we  shall 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    173 

deal  later.  For  more  than  five  weeks,  not 
a  day  passed  without  some  letter  or  comment 
in  the  columns  of  the  leading  English  paper. 
These  letters,  for  the  most  part,  embodied 
the  profound  distrust  with  which  the  new  sport 
was  regarded  by  the  bulk  of  Englishmen. 
If  Lord  Francis  Douglas  had  been  killed  while 
galloping  after  a  fox,  he  would  have  been 
considered  to  have  fallen  in  action.  That  he 
should  have  fallen  on  the  day  that  the  Matter- 
horn  fell,  that  he  should  have  paid  the  supreme 
forfeit  for  a  triumphant  hour  in  Alpine  history — 
such  a  death  was  obviously  wholly  without  its 
redeeming  features.  *'  It  was  the  blue  ribbon 
of  the  Alps,"  wrote  The  Times ,  "  that  poor 
Lord  Francis  Douglas  was  trying  for  the  other 
day.  If  it  must  be  so,  at  all  events  the  Alpine 
Club  that  has  proclaimed  this  crusade  must 
Hianage  the  thing  rather  better,  or  it  will 
soon  be  voted  a  nuisance.  If  the  work  is 
to  be  done,  it  must  be  done  well.  They  must 
advise  youngsters  to  practise,  and  make  sure 
of  their  strength  and  endurance." 

For  three  weeks,  Whymper  gave  no  sign. 
At  last,  in  response  to  a  dignified  appeal  from 
Mr.  Justice  Wills,  then  President  of  the 
Alpine  Club,  he  broke  silence,  and  gave  to  the 
public  a  restrained  account  of  the  tragedy. 
As  we  have  said,  malicious  rumour  had  been 
busy,  and  in  ignorant  quarters  there  had  been 


174  THE  ALPS 

rumours  of  foul  play.  The  Matterhorn  acci- 
dent first  popularised  the  theory  that  Alpine 
ropes  existed  to  be  cut.  Till  then,  the  public 
had  supposed  that  the  rope  was  used  to 
prevent  cowardly  climbers  deserting  their 
party  in  an  emergency.  But  from  1865 
onwards,  popular  authors  discovered  a  new 
use  for  the  rope.  They  divided  all  Alpine 
travellers  into  two  classes,  those  who  cut  the 
rope  from  below  ("  Greater  love  hath  no 
man — a  romance  of  the  mountains ")  and 
those  who  cut  the  rope  from  above  ("  The 
Coward — a  tale  of  the  snows  ").  A  casual 
reader  might  be  pardoned  for  supposing  that 
the  Swiss  did  a  brisk  business  in  sheath  knives. 
We  should  be  the  last  to  discourage  this  enter- 
prising school — their  works  have  afforded 
much  joy  to  the  climbing  fraternity;  but 
we  offer  them  in  all  humility  a  few  remarks 
on  the  art  of  rope-cutting  by  a  member 
of  Class  II  (those  who  cut  the  rope  from 
above). 

A  knife  could  only  be  used  with  advantage 
when  a  snowbridge  gives  way.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  hold  a  man  who  has  fallen  into  a 
crevasse;  but  it  is  often  impossible  to  pull 
him  out.  The  whole  situation  is  altered 
on  a  rock  face.  If  a  man  falls,  a  sudden 
jerk  may  pull  the  rest  of  the  party  off  the 
face    of    the    mountain.     This    will    almost 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    175 

certainly  happen  if  the  leader  or,  on  a  descent, 
the  last  man  down,  falls,  unless  the  rope  is 
anchored  round  a  knob  of  rock,  in  which 
case — provided  the  rope  does  not  break — 
the  leader  may  escape  with  a  severe  shaking, 
though  a  clear  fall  of  more  than  fifteen  feet 
will  usually  break  the  rope  if  anchored ;  and, 
if  not  anchored,  the  party  will  be  dragged 
off  their  holds  one  by  one.  Therefore,  the 
leader  must  not  fall.  If  any  other  member 
of  the  party  falls,  he  should  be  held  by  the 
man  above.  On  difficult  ground,  only  one 
man  moves  at  a  time.  No  man  moves  until 
the  man  above  has  secured  himself  in  a 
position  where  he  can  draw  in  the  rope  as  the 
man  below  advances.  If  he  keeps  it  reason- 
ably taut,  and  is  well  placed,  he  should  be 
able  to  check  any  slip.  A  climber  who  slips 
and  is  held  by  the  rope  can  immediately  get 
new  foothold  and  handhold.  He  is  not  in  a 
crevasse  from  which  exit  is  impossible  save 
at  the  rope's  end.  His  slip  is  checked,  and 
he  is  swung  up  against  a  rock  face.  There  is 
no  need  to  drag  him  up.  The  rest  of  the 
party  have  passed  over  this  face,  and  therefore 
handholds  and  footholds  can  be  found.  The 
man  who  has  slipped  will  find  fresh  purchase, 
and  begin  again.  In  the  case  of  the  Matter- 
horn  accident,  the  angle  of  the  slope  was  about 
forty  degrees.     There  was  an  abxmdance  of 


176  THE  ALPS 

hold,  and  if  the  rope  had  not  parted  Croz 
and  Hadow  would  have  been  abruptly  checked, 
and  would  have  immediately  secured  them- 
selves. Now,  if  Taugwalder  had  cut  the 
rope,  as  suggested,  he  must  have  been  little 
short  of  an  expert  acrobat,  and  have  cut  it  in 
about  the  space  of  a  second  and  a  half  before 
the  jerk.  If  he  had  waited  for  the  jerk,  either 
he  would  have  been  dragged  off,  in  which  case 
his  knife  would  have  come  in  handy,  or  he 
would  have  held,  in  which  case  it  would  have 
been  unnecessary. 

To  mountaineers,  all  this,  of  course,  is  a 
truism;  and  we  should  not  have  laboured 
the  point  if  we  wrote  exclusively  for  moun- 
taineers. Even  so,  Peter's  comrades  at  Zer- 
mat  (who  should  have  known  better)  persisted 
in  believing  that  he  cut  the  rope.  "  In  regard 
to  this  infamous  charge,"  writes  Whymper, 
"  I  say  that  he  could  not  do  so  at  the  moment 
of  the  slip,  and  that  the  end  of  the  rope  in 
my  possession  shows  that  he  did  not  do  so 
before."  Whymper,  however,  adds  :  "  There 
remains  the  suspicious  fact  that  the  rope 
which  broke  was  the  thinnest  and  weakest  one 
we  had.  It  is  suspicious  because  it  is  unlikely 
that  the  men  in  front  would  have  selected 
an  old  and  weak  rope  when  there  was  an 
abundance  of  new,  and  much  stronger,  rope 
to  spare;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  because 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    177 

if  Taugwalder  thought  that  an  accident  was 
Hkely  to  happen,  it  was  to  his  interest  to  have 
the  weaker  rope  placed  where  it  was." 

One  cannot  help  regretting  that  Whymper 
lent  weight  to  an  unworthy  suspicion.  Taug- 
walder was  examined  by  a  secret  Court  of 
Inquiry;  and  Whymper  prepared  a  set  of 
questions  with  a  view  to  helping  him  to  clear 
himself.  The  answers,  though  prornised,  were 
never  sent;  and  Taugwalder  ultimately  left 
the  valley  for  America,  returning  only  to  die. 
Whymper,  in  his  classic  book,  suggested  the 
possibility  of  criminal  dealings  by  publishing 
photographs  of  the  three  ropes  showing  that 
the  rope  broken  was  far  the  weakest. 

Let  us  review  the  whole  story  as  Whymper 
himself  tells  it.  We  know  that  Whymper 
crossed  the  Th^odule  on  the  eleventh  in  a 
state  of  anger  and  despair.  The  prize  for 
which  he  had  striven  so  long  seemed  to  be 
sliding  from  his  grasp.  Carrel  had  deserted 
him  just  as  the  true  line  of  attack  had  been 
discovered.  Like  all  mountaineers,  he  was 
human.  He  gets  together  the  best  party  he 
can,  and  sets  out  with  all  haste  determined  to 
win  by  a  head.  Hadow,  a  young  man  with 
very  little  experience,  is  taken,  and  Hadow, 
the  weak  link,  is  destined  to  turn  triumph 
into  disaster.  Let  the  mountaineer  who  has 
never  invited  a  man  unfit  for  a  big  climb  throw 

M 


178  THE  ALPS 

the  first  stone.  And,  before  he  has  thrown 
it,  let  him  remember  the  peculiar  provocation 
in  Whymper's  case. 

All  goes  well.  The  Matterhom  is  con- 
quered with  surprising  ease.  These  six  men 
achieve  the  greatest  triumph  in  Alpine  history 
without  serious  check.  To  Whymper,  this 
hour  on  the  summit  must  have  marked  the 
supreme  climax  of  life,  an  hour  that  set  its 
seal  on  the  dogged  labours  of  past  years. 
Do  men  in  such  moments  anticipate  disaster  ? 
Taugwalder  might  possibly  have  failed  in  a 
sudden  crisis;  but  is  it  likely  that  he  should 
deliberately  prepare  for  an  accident  by  care- 
fully planned  treachery? 

Now  read  the  story  as  Whymper  tells  it. 
The  party  are  just  about  to  commence  the 
descent.  The  first  five  hundred  feet  would 
still  be  considered  as  demanding  the  greatest 
care.  The  top  five  hundred  feet  of  the  Matter- 
horn,  but  for  the  ropes  with  which  the  whole 
mountain  is  now  festooned,  would  always  be  a 
difficult,  if  not  a  dangerous,  section.  Croz 
was  the  best  guide  in  the  party.  He  should 
have  remained  behind  as  sheet  anchor. 
Instead  of  this,  he  goes  first.  Whymper  falls 
out  of  line,  to  inscribe  the  names  of  the  party, 
ties  himself  casually  on  to  young  Peter,  and 
then  "  nms  down  after  the  others."  In  the 
final   arrangements,   young   Peter,  who  was 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN    179 

a  young  and  inexperienced  guide,  was  given 
the  vital  position  of  last  man  down.  Flushed 
with  triumph,  their  minds  could  find  no  room 
for  a  doubt.  Everything  had  gone  through 
with  miraculous  ease.  Such  luck  simply 
could  not  turn.  It  is  in  precisely  such  moments 
as  these  that  the  mountains  settle  their  score. 
Mountaineering  is  a  ruthless  sport  that  demands 
unremitting  attention.  In  games,  a  moment's 
carelessness  may  lose  a  match,  or  a  champion- 
ship; but  in  climbing  a  mistake  may  mean 
death. 

As  for  Taugwalder,  one  is  tempted  to 
acquit  him  without  hesitation;  but  there  is 
one  curious  story  about  Taugwalder  which 
gives  one  pause.  The  story  was  told  to  the 
present  writer  by  an  old  member  of  the 
Alpine  Club,  and  the  following  is  an  extract 
from  a  letter :  "I  had  rather  you  said  *  a 
friend  of  yours '  without  mentioning  my 
name.  I  had  a  good  many  expeditions  with 
old  Peter  Taugwalder,  including  Mont  Blanc 
and  Monte  Rosa;  and  I  had  rather  a  tender 
spot  for  the  somewhat  coarse,  dirty  old  beggar. 
I  should  not  like  my  name  to  appear  to  help 
the  balance  to  incline  in  the  direction  of  his 
guilt  in  that  Matterhom  affair.  It  was  not 
on  the  Dent  Blanche  that  he  took  the  rope 
off;  it  was  coming  down  a  long  steep  slope 
of  bare  cock  from  the  top  of  the  TSte  Blanche 


180  THE  ALPS 

towards  Prayag^.  I  had  a  couple  of  men 
with  me  who  were  inexperienced ;  and  I  fancy 
he  must  have  thought  that,  if  one  of  them  let 
go,  which  was  not  unlikely,  he  would  be  able 
to  choose  whether  to  hold  on  or  let  go.  I 
happened  to  look  up  and  see  what  was  going 
on,  and  I  made  him  tie  up  at  once.  I  don't 
quite  remember  whether  Wh3nnper  tells  us 
how  far  from  Peter's  fingers  the  break  in 
the  rope  occurred.  That  seems  to  me  one  of 
the  most  critical  points." 

There  we  may  leave  Taugwalder,  and  the 
minor  issues  of  this  great  tragedy.  The 
broader  lessons  are  summed  up  by  Mr. 
Whymper  in  a  memorable  passage :  "So 
the  traditional  inaccessibility  of  the  Matter- 
horn  was  vanquished,  and  was  replaced  by 
legends  of  a  more  real  character.  Others 
will  essay  to  scale  its  proud  cliffs,  but  to 
none  will  it  be  the  mountain  that  it  was  to  the 
early  explorers.  Others  may  tread  its  sum- 
mit snows,  but  none  will  ever  know  the 
feelings  of  those  who  first  gazed  upon  its 
marvellous  panorama;  and  none,  I  trust, 
will  ever  be  compelled  to  tell  of  joy  turned 
into  grief,  and  of  laughter  into  mourning. 
It  proved  to  be  a  stubborn  foe;  it  resisted 
long  and  gave  many  a  hard  blow;  it  was 
defeated  at  last  with  an  ease  that  none  could 
have  anticipated,  but  like  a  relentless  enemy — ■ 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN     181 

conquered,  but  not  crushed — it  took  a  terrible 
vengeance." 

The  last  sentence  has  a  peculiar  significance. 
A  strange  fatality  seems  to  dog  the  steps  of 
those  who  seek  untrodden  paths  to  the  crest 
of  the  Matterhorn.  Disaster  does  not  always 
follow  with  the  dramatic  swiftness  of  that 
which  marked  the  conquest  of  the  eastern 
face,  yet,  slowly  but  surely,  the  avenging 
spirit  of  the  Matterhorn  fulfils  itself. 

On  July  16,  two  days  after  the  catastrophe, 
J.  A.  Carrel  set  out  to  crown  Whymper's 
victory  by  proving  that  the  Italian  ridge  was 
not  unconquerable.  He  was  accompanied  by 
Abb6  Gorret,  a  plucky  priest  who  had  shared 
with  him  that  first  careless  attack  on  the 
mountain.  Bich  and  Meynet  completed  the 
party.  The  Abb^  and  Meynet  remained 
behind  not  very  far  from  the  top,  in  order  to 
help  Carrel  and  Bich  on  the  return  at  a  place 
where  a  short  descent  onto  a  ledge  was  liable 
to  cause  difficulty  on  the  descent.  This 
ledge,  known  as  Carrel's  corridor,  is  about 
forty  minutes  from  the  summit.  It  needed 
a  man  of  Carrel's  determined  courage  to  follow 
its  winding  course.     It  is  now  avoided. 

The  rest  of  the  climb  presented  no  difficulty. 
Carrel  had  conquered  the  Italian  ridge.  The 
ambition  of  years  was  half  fulfilled,  only  half, 
for  the  Matterhorn  itself  had  been  climbed. 


182  THE  ALPS 

One  cannot  but  regret  that  he  had  turned  back 
on  the  14th.  Whjnnper's  cries  of  triumph 
had  spelt  for  him  the  disappointment  of  a 
lifetime.  Yet  a  fine  r61e  was  open  to  him. 
Had  he  gone  forward  and  crowned  Whymper's 
victory  by  a  triumph  unmarred  by  disaster ; 
had  the  Matterhom  defied  all  assaults  for 
years,  and  then  yielded  on  the  same  day  to  a 
party  from  the  Swiss  side  and  Carrel's  men 
from  Italy,  the  most  dramatic  page  in  Alpine 
history  would  have  been  complete.  Thirty- 
five  years  later,  the  Matterhorn  settled  the 
long  outstanding  debt,  and  the  man  who  had 
first  attacked  the  citadel  died  in  a  snowstorm 
on  the  Italian  ridge  of  the  mountain  which  he 
had  been  the  first  to  assail,  and  the  first  to 
conquer. 

Carrel  was  in  his  sixty-second  year  when  he 
started  out  for  his  last  climb.  Bad  weather 
detained  the  party  in  the  Italian  hut,  and 
Signor  Sinigaglia  noticed  that  Carrel  was  far 
from  well.  After  two  nights  in  the  hut, 
the  provisions  began  to  run  out;  and  it  was 
decided  to  attempt  the  descent.  The  rocks 
were  in  a  terrible  condition,  and  the  storm 
added  to  the  difficulty.  Carrel  insisted  on 
leading,  though  he  was  far  from  well.  He 
knew  every  yard  of  his  own  beloved  ridge. 
If  a  man  could  pilot  them  through  the  storm 
that  man  was  Carrel.     Quietly  and  methodi- 


STORY  OF  THE  MATTERHORN     183 

cally,  he  fought  his  way  downward,  yard  by 
yard,  undaunted  by  the  hurricane,  husbanding 
the  last  ounces  of  his  strength.  He  would 
not  allow  the  other  guides  to  relieve  him  till 
the  danger  was  past,  and  his  responsibilities 
were  over.  Then  suddenly  he  collapsed,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  gallant  old  warrior 
fell  backwards  and  died.  A  cross  now  marks 
the  spot  where  the  old  soldier  died  in  action. 

In  life  the  leading  guides  of  Breuil  had  often 
resented  Carrel's  unchallenged  supremacy. 
But  death  had  obliterated  the  old  jealousies. 
Years  afterwards,  a  casual  climber  stopped 
before  Carrel's  cross,  and  remarked  to  the 
son  of  Carrel's  great  rival,  "  So  that  is  where 
Carrel  fell."  "  Carrel  did  not  fall,"  came  the 
indignant  answer,  "  Carrel  died." 

Let  us  turn  from  Carrel  to  the  conquerors  of 
another  great  ridge  of  the  Matterhorn. 

Of  others  concerned  with  attacks  on  the 
Italian  ridge,  Tyndall,  Bennen,  and  J.  J. 
Macquignaz,  all  came  to  premature  ends. 
Bennen  was  killed  in  an  historic  accident  on 
the  Haut  de  Cry,  and  Macquignaz  disappeared 
on  Mont  Blanc.  In  1879,  two  independeirt 
parties  on  the  same  day  made  the  first  ascent 
of  the  great  northern  ridge  of  the  Matterhorn 
known  as  the  Zmutt  arete.  Mummery  and 
Penhall  were  the  amateurs  responsible  for 
these     two     independent     assaults.      "  The 


184  THE  ALPS 

memory,"  writes  Mummery,"  of  two  rollicking 
parties,  comprised  of  seven  men,  who  on  one 
day  in  1879  were  climbing  on  the  west  face 
of  the  Matterhorn  passes  with  ghost-like 
admonition  before  my  mind,  and  bids  me 
remember  that,  of  these  seven,  Mr.  Penhall 
was  killed  on  the  Wetterhom,  Ferdinand 
Imseng  on  the  Macugnaga  side  of  Monte 
Rosa,  and  Johan  Petrus  on  the  Frersnay  Mont 
Blanc."  Of  the  remaining  four,  Mummery 
disappeared  in  the  Himalayas  in  1895,  Louis 
Zurbrucken  was  killed,  Alexander  Burgener 
perished  in  an  avalanche  near  the  Bergli  hut 
in  1911.  Mr.  Baumann  and  Emil  Rey,  who 
with  Petrus  followed  in  Mummery's  footsteps 
three  days  later,  both  came  to  untimely  ends  : 
Baumann  disappeared  in  South  Africa,  and 
Emil  Rey  was  killed  on  the  Dent  de  G^ant. 
The  sole  survivor  of  these  two  parties  is  the 
well-known  Augustin  Gentinetta,  one  of  the 
ablest  of  the  Zermat  guides.  Burgener  and 
Gentinetta  guided  Mummery  on  the  above- 
mentioned  climb,  while  Penhall  was  accom- 
panied by  Louis  Zurbrucken.  In  recent 
times,  three  great  mountaineers  who  climbed 
this  ridge  together  died  violent  deaths  within 
the  year.  The  superstitious  should  leave  the 
Zmutt  arete  alone. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MODERN   MOUNTAINEERING 

Alpine  History  is  not  easy  to  divide  into 
arbitrary  periods;  and  yet  the  conquest  of 
the  Matterhorn  does  in  a  certain  sense  define 
a  period.  It  closes  what  has  been  called 
"  the  golden  age  of  mountaineering."  Only 
a  few  great  peaks  still  remained  unconquered. 
In  this  chapter  we  shall  try  to  sketch  some 
of  the  tendencies  which  differentiate  modern 
mountaineering  from  mountaineering  in  the 
so-called  "  golden  age." 

The  most  radical  change  has  been  the 
growth  of  guideless  climbing,  which  was,  of 
course,  to  be  expected  as  men  grew  familiar 
with  the  infinite  variety  of  conditions  that 
are  the  essence  of  mountaineering.  In  a 
previous  chapter  we  have  discussed  the  main 
differences  between  guided  and  guideless 
climbing.  It  does  not  follow  that  a  man  of 
considerable  mountaineering  experience,  who 
habitually  climbs  with  guides  need  entirely 
relinquish  the  control  of  the  expedition.  Such 
a  man — there  are  not  many — may,  indeed, 
185 


186  THE  ALPS 

take  a  guide  as  a  reserve  of  strength,  or  as 
a  weight  carrier.  He  may  enjoy  training  up 
a  young  and  inexperienced  guide,  who  has  a 
native  talent  for  rock  and  ice,  while  lacking 
experience  and  mountain  craft.  One  oc- 
casionally finds  a  guide  who  is  a  first-class 
cragsman,  but  whose  general  knowledge  of 
mountain  strategy  is  inferior  to  that  of  a 
great  amateur.  In  such  a  combination,  the 
latter  will  be  the  real  general  of  the  expedi- 
tion, even  if  the  guide  habitually  leads  on 
difficult  rock  and  does  the  step-cutting.  On 
the  other  hand  a  member  of  a  guideless  party 
may  be  as  dependent  on  the  rest  of  the  party 
as  another  man  on  his  guides.  Moreover, 
tracks,  climbers,  guides  and  modem  maps 
render  the  mental  work  of  the  leader,  whether 
amateur  or  professional,  much  less  arduous 
than  in  more  primitive  days. 

But  when  we  have  made  all  possible  allow- 
ance for  the  above  considerations,  there  still 
remains  a  real  and  radical  distinction  between 
those  who  rely  on  their  own  efforts  and 
those  who  follow  a  guide.  The  man  who 
leads  even  on  one  easy  expedition  obtains  a 
greater  insight  into  the  secrets  of  his  craft 
than  many  a  guided  climber  with  a  long 
list  of  first-class  expeditions. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  the  great  guideless 
climbs   was   the   ascent  of  Mont   Blanc   by 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    187 

E.  S.  Kennedy,  Charles  Hudson  (afterwards 
killed  on  the  first  ascent  of  the  Matterhorn), 
Grenville  and  Christopher  Smyth,  E.  J. 
Stevenson  and  Charles  Ainslie.  Their  climb 
was  made  in  1855,  and  was  the  first  complete 
ascent  of  Mont  Blanc  from  St.  Gervais, 
though  the  route  was  not  new  except  in 
combination,  as  every  portion  of  it  had  been 
previously  done  on  different  occasions.  One 
of  the  first  systematic  guideless  climbers  to 
attract  attention  was  the  Rev.  A.  G.  Girdle- 
stone,  whose  book.  The  High  Alps  without 
Guides,  appeared  in  1870.  This  book  was 
the  subject  of  a  discussion  at  a  meeting  of 
the  Alpine  Club.  .Mr.  Grove,  a  well-known 
mountaineer,  read  a  paper  on  the  comparative 
skill  of  travellers  and  guides,  and  used 
Girdlestone's  book  as  a  text.  Mr.  Grove  said  : 
"  The  net  result  of  mountaineering  without 
guides  appears  to  be  this,  that,  in  twenty-one 
expeditions  selected  out  of  seventy  for  the 
purposes  of  description,  the  traveller  failed 
absolutely  four  times;  was  in  great  danger 
three  times  ;  was  aided  in  finding  the  way 
back  by  the  tracks  of  other  men's  guides  four 
times;  succeeded  absolutely  without  aid  of 
any  kind  ten  times  on  expeditions,  four  of 
which  were  very  easy,  three  of  moderate 
difficulty,  and  one  very  difficult."  The  "  very 
difficult  "  expedition  is  the  Wetterhorn,  which 


188  THE  ALPS 

is  nowadays  considered  a  very  modest 
achievement. 

Mr.  Girdlestone  was  a  pioneer,  with  the 
limitations  of  a  pioneer.  His  achievements 
judged  by  modem  standards  are  modest 
enough,  but  he  was  the  first  to  insist  that 
moimtaineering  without  guides  is  an  art,  and 
that  mountaineering  with  guides  is  often  only 
another  form  of  conducted  travel.  The  dis- 
cussion that  followed,  *as  might  be  expected, 
at  that  time  was  not  favourable  either  to 
Girdlestone  or  to  guideless  climbing.  Pro- 
bably each  succeeding  year  will  see  his  con- 
tribution to  modern  mountaineering  more 
properly  appreciated.  The  "  settled  opinion 
of  the  Alpine  Club  "  was  declared  "  without 
a  single  dissentient  to  be  that  "  the  neglect 
to  take  guides  on  difficult  expeditions  is 
totally  unjustifiable." 

But  guideless  climbing  had  come  to  stay. 
A  year  after  this  memorable  meeting  of  the 
Alpine  Club,  two  of  its  members  carried  out 
without  guides  some  expeditions  more  severe 
than  anything  Girdlestone  had  attempted. 
In  1871  Mr.  John  Stogdon,  a  well-known 
Harrow  master,  and  the  Rev.  Arthur  Fair- 
banks ascended  the  Nesthorn  and  Aletschhorn, 
and  in  the  following  year  climbed  the  Jungf rau 
and  Aletschhorn  unguided.  No  record  of  these 
expeditions   found   its   way   into   print.     In 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING     189 

1876,  a  party  of  amateurs,  Messrs.  Cust, 
Cawood,  and  Colgrove  climbed  the  Matterhorn 
without  guides.  This  expedition  attracted 
great  attention,  and  was  severely  commented 
on  in  the  columns  of  the  Press.  Mr.  Cust,  in 
an  eloquent  paper  read  before  the  Alpine 
Club,  went  to  the  root  of  the  whole  matter 
when  he  remarked  :  "  Cricket  is  a  sport  which 
is  admitted  by  all  to  need  acquired  skill.  A 
man  can  buy  his  mountaineering  as  he  can 
buy  his  yachting.  None  the  less,  there  are 
yachtsmen  and  yachtsmen." 

Systematic  climbing  on  a  modern  scale 
without  guides  was  perhaps  first  practised 
by  Purtscheller  and  Zsigmondys  in  1880. 
Among  our  own  people,  it  found  brilliant 
exponents  in  Morse,  Mummery,  Wicks,  and 
Wilson  some  twenty  years  ago;  and  it  has 
since  been  adopted  by  many  of  our  own 
leading  mountaineers.  Abroad,  guideless 
climbing  finds  more  adherents  than  with  us. 
Naturally  enough,  the  man  who  lives  near  the 
mountains  will  find  it  easier  to  make  up  a 
guideless  party  among  his  friends;  and,  if  he 
is  in  the  habit  of  spending  all  his  holidays 
and  most  of  his  week-ends  among  the  moun- 
tains that  can  be  reached  in  a  few  hours  from 
his  home,  he  will  soon  acquire  the  necessary 
skill  to  dispense  with  guides. 

So  much  for  guid.'lcss   climbing.     Let  us 


190  THE   ALPS 

now  consider  some  of  the  other  important 
developments  in  the  practice  of  mountain- 
eering. In  the  Alps  the  tendency  has  been 
towards  specialisation.  Before  1865  the  am- 
bitious mountaineer  had  scores  of  u  ^conquered 
peaks  to  attack.  After  the  defeat  of  the 
Matterhorn,  the  number  of  the  unclimbed 
greater  mountains  gradually  thinned  out.  The 
Meije,  which  fell  in  1877,  was  one  of  the  last 
great  Alpine  peaks  to  remain  unclimbed. 
With  the  development  of  rock-climbing,  even 
the  last  and  apparently  most  hopelessly 
inaccessible  rock  pinnacles  of  the  Dolomites 
and  Chamonix  were  defeated.  There  is  no 
rock-climbing  as  understood  in  Wales  or 
Lakeland  or  Skye  on  giants  of  the  Oberland 
or  Valais,  such  as  the  Schreckhorn  or  Matter- 
horn.  These  tax  the  leader's  power  of  choosing 
a  route,  his  endurance  and  his  knowledge  of 
snow  and  ice,  and  weather ;  but  their  demands 
on  the  pure  cragsman  are  less.  The  difficulty 
of  a  big  mountain  often  depends  very  much 
on  its  condition  and  length.  Up  to  1865 
hardly  any  expeditions  had  been  carried 
through — with  a  few  exceptions,  such  as  the 
Brenva  route  up  Mont  Blanc — that  a  modern 
expert  would  consider  exceptionally  severe. 
Modern  rock-climbing  begins  in  the  late 
seventies.  The  expeditions  in  the  Dolomites 
by  men  like  Zsigmondy,  Schmitt,  and  Winkler, 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING     191 

among  foreign  mountaineers,  belong  to  much 
the  same  period  as  Burgener  and  Mummery 
classic  climbs  in  the  Chamounix  district. 

Mummery  is,  perhaps,  best  known  in  con- 
nection with  the  first  ascent  of  the  Grepon 
by  the  sensational  "  Mummery  crack,"  when 
his  leader  was  the  famous  Alexander  Burgener 
aided  by  a  young  cragsman,  B.  Venetz. 
Venetz,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  led  up  the  "  Mum- 
mery "  crack.  Mummery's  vigorous  book, 
which  has  become  a  classic,  contains  accounts 
of  many  new  expeditions,  such  as  the  Grepon, 
the  Requin,  the  Matterhorn  by  the  Zmutt 
ar6te,  and  the  Caucasian  giant  Dych  Tau, 
to  name  the  more  important.  His  book, 
My  Climbs  in  the  Alps  and  Caucasus y  is 
thoroughly  typical  of  the  modern  view  of 
mountaineering.  It  contains  some  doctrines 
that  are  still  considered  heretical,  such  as  the 
safety  of  a  party  of  two  on  a  snow-covered 
glacier,  and  many  doctrines  that  are  now 
accepted,  such  as  the  justification  of  guideless 
climbing  and  of  difficult  variation  routes. 
Shortly  after  the  book  appeared.  Mummery 
was  killed  on  Nanga  Parbat,  as  was  Emil 
Zsigmondy  on  the  Meije  soon  after  the  issue 
of  his  book  on  the  dangers  of  the  Alps. 

But  even  Dolomites  and  Chamounix  aiguilles 
are  not  inexhaustible,  and  the  number  of 
unconquered  smnmits  gradually  diminished. 


192  THE  ALPS 

The  rapid  opening  up  of  the  Alps  has  naturally 
turned  the  attention  of  men  with  the  exploring 
instinct  and  ample  means  to  the  exploration 
of  the  great  mountain  ranges  beyond  Europe. 
This  does  not  fall  within  the  scope  of  the 
present  volume,  and  we  need  only  remark  in 
passing  that  British  climbers  have  played  an 
important  part  in  the  campaigns  against  the 
fortresses  of  the  Himalaya,  Caucasus,  Andes, 
and  Rockies. 

Meanwhile  the  ambitious  mountaineer  was 
forced  to  look  for  new  routes  on  old  peaks. 
Now,  a  man  in  search  of  the  easiest  way 
up  a  difficult  peak  could  usually  discover 
a  route  which  was  climbable  without  severe 
technical  difficulty.  On  a  big  mountain, 
it  is  often  possible  to  evade  any  small  and 
very  difficult  section.  But  most  mountains, 
even  our  British  hills,  have  at  least  one 
route  which  borders  on  the  impossible,  and 
a  diligent  search  will  soon  reveal  it.  Consider 
the  two  extremes  of  rock-climbing.  Let  us 
take  the  Matterhorn  as  a  good  example  of  a 
big  mountain  which  consists  almost  entirely 
of  rock.  It  is  impossible  to  find  a  route  up 
the  Matterhorn  which  one  could  climb  with 
one's  hands  in  one's  pockets,  but  the  ordinary 
Swiss  route  is  an  easy  scramble  as  far  as  the 
shoulder,  and,  with  the  fixed  ropes,  a  straight- 
forward climb  thence  to  the  top.     Its  Furggen 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    198 

Ridge  has  been  once  climbed  under  fair 
conditions  and  then  only  with  a  partial 
deviation.  It  is  extremely  severe  and  dan- 
gerous. The  task  of  the  mountaineers  who 
first  assailed  the  Matterhorn  was  to  pick  out 
the  easiest  line  of  approach.  The  Zmutt, 
and  in  a  greater  degree  the  Furggen  routes, 
were  obviously  ruled  out  of  consideration. 
The  Italian  route  was  tried  many  times 
without  success  before  the  Swiss  route  was 
discovered.  Of  course,  the  Matterhorn,  like 
all  big  mountains,  varies  in  difficulty  from 
day  to  day.  It  is  a  very  long  climb;  and,  if 
the  conditions  are  unfavourable,  it  may  prove 
a  very  difficult  and  a  very  dangerous  peak. 

Turning  to  the  nursery  of  Welsh  climbers, 
Lliwedd  can  be  climbed  on  a  mule,  and 
Lliwedd  can  also  be  climbed  by  about  thirty 
or  more  distinct  routes  up  its  southern  rock 
face.  If  a  man  begins  to  look  for  new  routes 
up  a  wall  of  a  cliff  a  thousand  feet  in  height 
and  a  mile  or  so  in  breath,  he  will  sooner  or 
later  reach  the  line  which  divided  reasonable 
from  unreasonable  risk.  Modern  pioneer  work 
in  the  Alps  is  nearer  the  old  ideal.  It  is  not 
simply  the  search  for  the  hardest  of  all 
climbable  routes  up  a  given  rock  face.  In 
England,  the  danger  of  a  rock  fall  is  practi- 
cally absent,  and  a  rock  face  is  not  considered 
climbed  out  as  long  as  one  can  work  up  from 


194  THE  ALPS 

base  to  summit  by  a  series  of  ledges  not 
touched  on  a  previous  climb.  Two  such 
routes  will  sometimes  be  separated  by  a  few 
feet.  In  the  Alps,  the  pioneer  is  compelled 
by  objective  difficulties  to  look  for  distinct 
ridges  and  faces  unswept  by  stones  and 
avalanches.  There  is  a  natural  challenge  in 
the  sweep  of  a  great  ridge  falling  through 
some  thousand  unconquered  feet  to  the 
pastures  below.  There  is  only  an  artificial 
challenge  in  a  "  new  "  route  some  thousand 
feet  in  height  separated  only  by  a  few  yards 
of  cliff  from  an  "  old  "  route.  We  do  not 
wish  to  depreciate  British  climbing,  which 
has  its  own  fascination  and  its  own  value; 
but,  if  it  calls  for  greater  cragsmanship,  it 
demands  infinitely  less  mountain  craft  than 
the  conquest  of  a  difficult  Alpine  route. 

And  what  is  true  of  British  rock-climbing 
is  even  more  true  of  Tirol.  Ranges,  such  as 
the  Kaisergebirge,  have  been  explored  with 
the  same  thoroughness  that  has  characterised 
British  rock-climbing.  Almost  every  con- 
ceivable variation  of  the  "  just  possible  "  has 
been  explored.  Unfortunately,  the  death-roll 
in  these  districts  is  painfully  high,  as  the  keen- 
ness of  the  young  Austrian  and  Bavarian  has 
not  infrequently  exceeded  their  experience 
and  powers. 

Abroad,  mountaineering  has  developed  very 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    195 

rapidly  since  the  'sixties.  We  have  seen  that 
English  climbers,  first  in  the  field,  secured 
a  large  share  of  unconquered  peaks;  but 
once  continental  climbers  had  taken  up  the 
new  sport,  our  earlier  start  was  seriously 
challenged.  The  Swiss,  Austrian,  and  German 
have  one  great  advantage.  They  are  much 
nearer  the  Alps ;  and  moimtaineering  in  these 
countries  is,  as  a  result,  a  thoroughly  demo- 
cratic sport.  The  foreign  Alpine  Clubs  num- 
ber thousands  of  members.  The  German- 
Austrian  Alpine  Club  has  alone  nearly  ninety 
thousand  members.  There  is  no  qualification, 
social  or  mountaineering.  These  great  na- 
tional clubs  have  a  small  subscription;  and 
with  the  large  funds  at  their  disposal  they 
are  able  to  build  club-huts  in  the  mountains, 
and  excellent  meeting  places  in  the  great 
towns,  where  members  can  find  an  Alpine 
library,  maps,  and  other  sources  of  informa- 
tion. They  secure  many  useful  concessions, 
such  as  reduced  fares  for  their  members  on 
Alpine  railways.  Mountaineering  naturally 
becomes  a  democratic  sport  in  mountainous 
countries,  because  the  mountains  are  acces- 
sible. The  very  fact  that  a  return  ticket  to 
the  Alps  is  a  serious  item  must  prevent 
Alpine  climbing  from  becoming  the  sport  of 
more  than  a  few  of  our  countrymen.  At  the 
same  time,  we  have  an  excellent  native  play- 


196  THE  ALPS 

ground  in  Wales  and  Cumberland,  which  has 
made  it  possible  for  young  men  to  learn  the 
craft  before  they  could  afford  a  regular  climb- 
ing holiday  in  the  Alps.  Beside  the  great 
national  clubs  of  the  Continent,  there  are  a 
number  of  vigorous  university  clubs  scattered 
through  these  countries.  Of  these,  the  Akade- 
mischer  Alpine  clubs  at  Zurich  and  Munich 
are,  perhaps,  the  most  famous.  These  clubs 
consist  of  young  men  reading  at  the  Poly- 
technic or  University.  They  have  as  high  a 
mountaineering  qualification  as  any  existing 
Alpine  clubs.  They  attach  importance  to 
the  capacity  to  lead  a  guideless  party  rather 
than  to  the  bare  fact  that  a  man  has  climbed 
so  many  peaks.  Each  candidate  is  taken  on 
a  series  of  climbs  by  members  of  the  club, 
who  report  to  the  committee  on  his  general 
knowledge  of  snow  and  rock  conditions,  and 
his  fitness,  whether  in  respect  of  courage  or 
endurance  for  arduous  work. 

It  is  young  men  of  this  stamp  that  play 
such  a  great  part  in  raising  the  standard  of 
continental  mountaineering.  Their  crags- 
manship  often  verges  on  the  impossible.  A 
book  published  in  Munich,  entitled  Empor, 
affords  stimulating  reading.  This  book  was 
produced  in  honour  and  in  memory  of  Georg 
Winkler  by  some  of  his  friends.  Winkler  was 
a  young  Mimich  climber  who  carried  through 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    197 

some  of  the  most  daring  rock  climbs  ever 
recorded.  Empor  contains  his  diary,  and 
several  articles  contributed  by  various  mem- 
bers of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  climbing 
groups  in  Alpine  history.  Winkler's  amazing 
performances  give  to  the  book  a  note  which 
is  lacking  in  most  Alpine  literature.  Winkler 
was  born  in  1869.  As  a  boy  of  eighteen  he 
made,  quite  alone,  the  first  ascent  of  the 
Winklerturn,  one  of  the  most  sensational — 
both  in  appearance  and  reality — of  all  Dolo- 
mite pinnacles.  On  the  14th  of  August 
1888  he  traversed  alone  the  Zinal  Rothhom, 
and  on  the  18th  he  lost  his  life  in  a 
solitary  attempt  on  the  great  Zinal  face  of 
the  Weisshorn.  No  definite  traces  of  him 
have  ever  been  found.  His  brother,  bom  in 
the  year  of  his  death,  has  also  carried  through 
some  sensational  solitary  climbs. 

We  may,  perhaps,  be  excused  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  the  British 
crags  can  occasionally  produce  climbers  whose 
achievements  are  quite  as  sensational  as 
those  of  the  Winklers.  Without  native  moun- 
tains, we  could  not  hope  to  produce  cragsmen 
equal  to  those  of  Tirol  and  the  Alps.  One 
must  begin  young.  It  is,  as  a  rule,  only  a 
comparatively  small  minority  that  can  afford 
a  regular  summer  holiday  in  the  Alps;  but 
Scawfell  and  Lliwedd  are  accessible  enough, 


198  THE  ALPS 

and  the  comparatively  high  standard  of  the 
British  rock-climber  owes  more  to  British 
than  to  Alpine  mountains.  It  was  only  in 
the  last  two  decades  that  the  possibilities  of 
these  crags  were  systematically  worked  out, 
though  isolated  climbs  have  been  recorded 
for  many  years. '  The  patient  and  often  bril- 
liant explorations  of  a  group  of  distinguished 
mountaineers  have  helped  to  popularise  a  fine 
field  for  native  talent,  and  an  arena  for  those 
who  cannot  afford  a  regular  Alpine  campaign. 
Guides  are  unknown  in  Great  Britain,  and  the 
man  who  learns  to  climb  there  is  often  more 
independent  and  more  self-reliant  than  the 
mountaineer  who  is  piloted  about  by  guides. 
There  is,  of  course,  much  that  can  be  learned 
only  in  the  Alps.  The  home  climber  can 
learn  to  use  an  axe  in  the  wintry  gullies  round 
Scawfell.  He  learns  something  of  snow;  but 
both  snow  and  ice  can  only  be  properly  studied 
in  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow.  The  home- 
trained  cragsman,  as  a  rule,  learns  to  lead  up 
rocks  far  more  difiicult  than  anything  met 
with  on  the  average  Swiss  peaks,  but  the 
wider  lessons  of  route-finding  over  a  long  and 
complicated  expedition  are  naturally  not 
acquired  on  a  face  of  cliff  a  thousand  feet  in 
height.  Nor,  for  that  matter,  is  the  art  of 
rapid  descent  over  easy  rocks ;  for  the  British 
climber  usually  ascends  by  rocks,  and  runs 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    199 

home  over  grass  and  scree.  None  the  less, 
these  cliffs  have  produced  some  wonderfully 
fine  mountaineers.  We  have  our  Winklers, 
and  we  have  also  yoimg  rock-climbers  who 
confine  their  energies  to  the  permissible  limit 
of  the  justifiable  climbing  and  who,  within 
those  limits,  carry  their  craft  to  its  most 
refined  possibilities.  Hugh  Pope,  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  of  the  younger  school  of  rock- 
climbers,  learned  his  craft  on  the  British  hills, 
and  showed  in  his  first  Alpine  season  the  value 
of  that  training.  To  the  great  loss  of  British 
mountaineering  he  was  killed  in  1912  on  the 
Pic  du  Midi  d'Ossau. 

Another  comparatively  recent  development 
is  the  growth  of  winter  mountaineering.  The 
first  winter  expedition  of  any  importance 
after  the  beginnings  of  serious  mountaineering 
was  Mr.  T.  S.  Kennedy's  attempt  on  the 
Matterhorn  in  1863.  He  conceived  the  curious 
idea  that  the  Matterhorn  might  prove  easier 
in  winter  than  in  summer.  Here,  he  was  very 
much  mistaken.  He  was  attacked  by  a  storm, 
and  retreated  after  reaching  a  point  where 
the  real  climb  begins.  It  was  a  plucky  ex- 
pedition. But  the  real  pioneer  of  winter 
mountaineering  was  W.  A.  Moore.  In  1866, 
with  Mr.  Horace  Walker,  Melchior  Anderegg, 
Christian  Aimer,  and  "Peterli"  Bohren,  he  left 
Grindelwald  at  midnight ;  they  crossed  the  Fin- 


200  THE  ALPS 

steraarjoch,  and  returned  within  the  twenty- 
four  hours  to  Grindelwald  over  the  Strahlegg. 
Even  in  summer  this  would  prove  a  strenous 
day.  In  winter,  it  is  almost  incredible  that 
this  double  traverse  should  have  been  carried 
through  without  sleeping  out. 

Most  of  the  great  peaks  have  now  been 
ascended  in  winter;  and  amongst  others  Mr. 
Coolidge  must  be  mentioned  as  a  prominent 
pioneer.  His  ascents  of  the  Jungfrau,  Wetter- 
horn,  and  Schreckhom — the  first  in  winter — 
with  Christian  Aimer,  did  much  to  set  the 
fashion.  Mrs.  Le  Blond,  the  famous  lady 
climber,  has  an  even  longer  list  -of  winter 
first  ascents  to  her  credit.  But  the  real 
revolution  in  winter  mountaineering  has  been 
caused  by  the  introduction  of  ski-ing.  In 
winter,  the  main  difficulty  is  getting  to  the 
high  mountain  huts.  Above  the  huts,  the 
temperature  is  often  mild  and  equable  for 
weeks  together.  A  low  temperature  on  the 
ground  co-exists  with  a  high  temperature  in 
the  air.  Rock-ridges  facing  south  or  south- 
west are  often  denuded  of  snow,  and  as  easy 
to  climb  as  in  sunmier.  Signor  Sella  also 
made  some  brilliant  winter  ascents,  such  as 
the  Matterhom  and  Monte  Rosa. 

The  real  obstacle  to  winter  mountaineering 
is  the  appalling  weariness  of  wading  up  to 
the  club-huts  on    foot.     The   snow    in    the 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    201 

sheltered  lower  valleys  is  often  deep  and 
powdery;  and  the  climber  on  foot  will  have 
to  force  his  way  through  pine  forests  where 
the  snow  lies  in  great  drifts  between  the  trees, 
and  over  moraines  where  treacherous  drifts 
conceal  pitfalls  between  the  loose  stones.  All 
this  is  changed  by  the  introduction  of  ski. 
The  ski  distributes  the  weight  of  the  climber 
over  a  long,  even  surface ;  and  in  the  softest 
snow  he  will  not  sink  in  more  than  a  few 
inches.  Better  still,  they  revolutionise  the 
descent,  converting  a  weary  plug  through 
snow-drifts  into  a  succession  of  swift  and 
glorious  runs.  The  ski-runner  takes  his  ski 
to  the  foot  of  the  last  rock  ridges,  and  then 
proceeds  on  foot,  rejoining  his  ski,  and  covering 
on  the  descent  five  thousand  feet  in  far  less 
time  than  the  foot-climber  would  take  over 
five  hundred.  Skis,  as  everybody  knows, 
were  invented  as  a  means  of  crossing  snowy 
country  inaccessible  on  foot.  They  are  some- 
times alluded  to  as  snowshoes,  but  differ 
radically  from  snowshoes  in  one  important 
respect.  Both  ski  and  the  Canadian  snow- 
shoe  distribute  their  wearer's  weight,  and 
enable  him  to  cross  drifts  where  he  would 
sink  in  hopelessly  if  he  were  on  foot,  but  there 
the  resemblance  ends.  For,  whereas  snow- 
shoes  cannot  slide  on  snow,  and  whereas  a 
man  on  snowshoes  cannot  descend  a  hill  as 


202  THE  ALPS 

fast  as  a  man  on  foot  could  run  down  hill, 
skis  glide  rapidly  and.  easily  on  snow,  and  a 
ski-runner  can  descend  at  a  rate  which  may 
be  anything  up  to  sixty  miles  an  hour. 

Ski-ing  is  of  Scandinavian  origin,  and  the 
greatest  exponents  of  the  art  are  the  Nor- 
wegians. Norwegians  have  used  ski  from 
time  immemorial  in  certain  districts,  such  as 
Telemarken,  as  a  means  of  communication 
between  snow-bound  villages.  It  should,  per- 
haps, be  added  that  ski-jumping  does  not 
consist,  as  some  people  imagine,  in  casual 
leaps  across  chasms  or  over  intervening 
hillocks.  The  ski-runner  does  not  glide  along 
the  level  at  the  speed  of  an  express  train, 
lightly  skimming  any  obstacles  in  his  path. 
On  the  level,  the  best  performer  does  not  go 
more  than  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour,  and  the 
great  jumps  one  hears  of  are  made  downhill. 
The  ski-runner  swoops  down  on  to  a  specially 
prepared  platform,  leaps  into  the  air,  and 
alights  on  a  very  steep  slope  below.  The 
longest  jump  on  record  is  some  hundred  and 
fifty  feet,  measured  from  the  edge  of  the 
take-off  to  the  alighting  point.  In  this  case, 
the  ski-runner  must  have;  fallen  through 
nearly  seventy  vertical  feet./ 

To  the  mountaineer,}  the  real  appeal  of 
ski-ing  is  due  to  the  fact  that  it  halves  the 
labour  of  his  ascent  ta  the  upper  snowfields, 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    203 

and  converts  a  tedious  descent  into  a  suc- 
cession of  swift  and  fascinating  runs.  The 
ski-runner  climbs  on  ski  to  the  foot  of  the 
final  rock  and  ice  ridges,  and  then  finishes 
the  climb  in  the  ordinary  way.  After  re- 
joining his  ski,  his  work  is  over,  and  his 
reward  is  all  before  him.  If  he  were  on  foot, 
he  would  have  to  wade  laboriously  down  to 
the  valley.  On  ski,  he  can  swoop  down  with 
ten  times  the  speed,  and  a  thousand  times 
the  enjoyment. 

Ski  were  introduced  into  Central  Europe 
in  the  early  'nineties.  Dr.  Paulcke's  classic 
traverse  of  the  Oberland  in  1895,  which 
included  the  ascent  of  the  Jungfrau,  proved 
to  mountaineers  the  possibilities  of  the  new 
craft.  Abroad,  the  lesson  was  soon  learned. 
To-day,  there  are  hundreds  of  ski-runners 
who  make  a  regular  practice  of  mountaineering 
in  winter.  The  Alps  have  taken  out  a  new 
lease  of  life.  In  summer,  the  huts  are 
crowded,  the  fashionable  peaks  are  festooned 
with  parties  of  incompetent  novices  who  are 
dragged  and  pushed  upwards  by  their  guides, 
but  in  winter  the  true  mountain  lover  has 
the  upper  world  to  himself.  The  mere 
summit  hunter  naturally  chooses  the  Une  of 
least  resistance,  and  accumulates  his  list  of 
first  class  expeditions  in  the  summer  months, 
when  such  a  programme  is  easiest  to  compile. 


204  THE   ALPS 

The  winter  mountaineer  must  be  more  or 
less  independent  of  the  professional  element, 
for,  though  he  will  probably  employ  a  guide 
to  find  the  way  and  to  act  as  a  reserve  of 
strength,  he  himself  must  at  least  be  able  to 
ski  steadily,  and  at  a  fair  speed. 

Moreover,  mountain  craft  as  the  winter 
mountaineer  understands  the  term  is  a  more 
subtle  and  more  embracing  science  as  far,  at 
least,  as  snow  conditions  are  concerned.  It 
begins  at  the  hdtel  door.  In  summer,  there 
is  a  mule  path  leading  to  the  glacier  line,  a 
mule  path  which  a  man  can  climb  with  his 
mind  asleep.  But  in  winter  the  snow  with 
its  manifold  problems  sweeps  down  to  the 
village.  A  man  has  been  killed  by  an 
avalanche  within  a  few  yards  of  a  great 
hotel.  From  the  moment  a  man  buckles  on 
his  ski,  he  must  exercise  his  knowledge  of 
snow  conditions.  There  are  no  paths  save  a 
few  woodcutter's  tracks.  From  the  valley 
upwards,  he  must  learn  to  pick  a  good  line, 
and  to  avoid  the  innocent-looking  slopes 
that  may  at  any  moment  resolve  themselves 
into  an  irresistible  avalanche.  Many  a  man  is 
piloted  up  a  succession  of  great  peaks  without 
acquiring  anything  like  the  same  intimate 
knowledge  of  snow  that  is  possessed  even 
by  a  ski-runner  who  has  never  crossed  the 
smnmer  snow-line.    Even  the  humblest  ski- 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    205 

runner  must  learn  to  diagnose  the  snow.  He 
may  follow  his  leader  unthinkingly  on  the 
ascent;  but  once  he  starts  down  he  must 
judge  for  himself.  If  he  makes  a  mistake, 
he  will  be  thrown  violently  on  to  his  face 
when  the  snow  suddenly  sticks,  and  on  to 
his  back  when  it  quickens.  Even  the  most 
unobservant  man  will  learn  something  of  the 
effects  of  sun  and  wind  on  his  running  surface 
when  the  result  of  a  faulty  deduction  may 
mean  violent  contact  with  Mother  Earth. 

Those  who  worship  the  Alps  in  their  loveliest 
and  loneliest  moods,  those  who  dislike  the 
weary  anti-climax  of  the  descent  through 
burning  snowfields,  and  down  dusty  mule 
paths,  will  climb  in  the  winter  months, 
when  to  the  joy  of  renewing  old  memories  of 
the  mountains  in  an  unspoiled  setting  is  added 
the  rapture  of  the  finest  motion  known  to 
man. 

In  England  mountaineering  on  ski  has  yet 
to  find  many  adherents.  We  have  little 
opportunity  for  learning  to  ski  in  these  isles, 
and  the  ten  thousand  Englishmen  that  visit 
the  Alps  in  winter  prefer  to  ski  on  the  lower 
hills.  For  every  Englishman  with  a  respect- 
able list  of  glacier  tours  on  ski  to  his  credit, 
there  are  at  least  a  hundred  continental  run- 
ners with  a  record  many  times  more  brilliant. 
The  Alpine  Ski  Club,  now  in  its  sixth  year. 


206  THE  ALPS 

has  done  much  to  encourage  this  "  new  moun- 
taineering," and  its  journal  contains  a  record 
of  the  finest  expeditions  by  English  and 
continental  runners.  But  even  in  the  pages 
of  the  Alpine  Ski  Club  Annual,  the  proportion 
of  foreign  articles  describing  really  fine  tours 
is  depressingly  large.  Of  course,  the  conti- 
nental runner  lives  nearer  the  Alps.  So  did 
the  continental  mountaineer  of  the  early 
'sixties;  but  that  did  not  prevent  us  taking 
our  fair  share  of  virgin  peaks. 

The  few  Englishmen  who  are  making  a 
more  or  less  regular  habit  of  serious  moun- 
taineering on  ski  are  not  among  the  veterans 
of  summer  mountaineering,  and  the  leaders 
of  summer  mountaineering  have  not  yet 
learned  to  ski.  i  Abroad,  the  leaders  of  summer 
mountaineering  have  welcomed  ski-ing  as  a 
key  to  their  mountains  in  winter;  but  the 
many  leaders  of  English  mountaineering  still 
argue  that  skis  should  not  be  used  in  the 
High  Alps,  on  the  ground  that  they  afford 
facility  for  venturing  on  slopes  and  into 
places  where  the  risk  of  avalanches  is  ex- 
treme. On  the  Continent  thousands  of 
runners  demonstrate  in  the  most  effective 
manner  that  mountaineering  on  ski  has  come 
to  stay.  It  is  consoling  to  reflect  that 
English  ski-runners  are  prepared  to  work  out 
the  peculiar  problems  of  their  craft  with  or 


MODERN  MOUNTAINEERING    207 

without  the  help  of  summer  mountaineers. 
Of  course,  both  ski-ing  and  summer  moun- 
taineering would  be  strengthened  by  an 
alliance,  and  ski-runners  can  best  learn  the 
rules  of  the  glacier  world  in  winter  from  those 
mountaineers  who  combine  a  knowledge  of 
the  summer  Alps  with  some  experience  of 
winter  conditions  and  a  mastery  of  ski-ing. 
For  the  moment,  such  teachers  must  be  looked 
for  in  the  ranks  of  continental  mountaineers. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   ALPS   IN   LITBmATUKE 

The  last  chapter  has  brought  the  story  of 
mountaineering  up  to  modern  times,  but, 
before  we  close,  there  is  another  side  of  Alpine 
exploration*  on  which  we  must  touch.  For 
Alpine  exploration  means  something  more 
than  the  discovery  of  new  passes  and  the 
conquest  of  virgin  peaks.  That  is  the  physical 
aspect  of  the  sport,  perhaps  the  side  which  the 
average  climber  best  understands.  But  Alpine 
exploration  is  mental  as  well  as  physical,  and 
concerns  itself  with  the  adventures  of  the 
mind  in  touch  with  the  mountains  as  well  as 
with  the  adventures  of  the  body  in  contact 
with  an  unclimbed  cliff.  The  story  of  the 
gradual  discovery  of  high  places  as  sources  of 
inspiration  has  its  place  in  the  history  of 
Alpine  exploration,  as  well  as  the  record  of 
variation  routes  too  often  expressed  in  lan- 
guage of  unvarying  monotony. 

The  present  writer  once  undertook  to  com- 
pile an  anthology  whose  scope  was  defined 
by  the  title — The  Englishman  in  the  Alps, 

ao6 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     209 

The  limitations  imposed  by  the  series  of  which 
this  anthology  formed  a  part  prevented  him 
from  including  the  Alpine  literature  of  foreign 
authors,  a  fact  which  tended  to  obscure  the 
real  development  of  the  Alpine  literature.  In 
the  introduction  he  expressed  the  orthodox 
views  which  all  good  mountaineers  accept 
without  demur,  explaining  that  mountaineers 
were  the  first  to  write  fitly  of  the  mountains, 
that  English  mountaineers  had  a  peculiar 
talent  in  this  direction,  and  that  all  the  best 
mountain  literature  was  written  in  the  last 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  These  pious 
conclusions  were  shattered  by  some  very 
radical  criticism  which  appeared  in  leading 
articles  of  The  Times  and  The  Field.  The 
former  paper,  in  the  course  of  some  criticisms 
of  Mr.  Spender's  Alpine  Anthology,  remarked : 
"  In  the  matter  of  prose,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  has  a  striking  predilection  for  the  modern 
'  Alpine  books  '  of  commerce,  though  hardly 
a  book  among  them  except  Whymper's 
Scrambles  in  the  Alps  has  any  real  literary 
vitality,  or  any  interest  apart  from  the  story 
of  adventure  which  it  tells.  Mummery,  per- 
haps, has  individuality  enough  to  be  made 
welcome  in  any  gallery,  and,  of  course,  one 
is  glad  to  meet  Leslie  Stephen.  But  what  is 
C.  E.  Mathews  doing  there?  Or  Norman 
Neruda  ?     Or  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison  ?     In  an 


210  THE  ALPS 

anthology  which  professed  to  be  nothmg  more 
than  a  collection  of  stories  of  adventure, 
accidents,  and  narrow  escapes,  they  would 
have  their  place  along  with  Owen  Glynne 
Jones,  and  Mr.  Douglas  Freshfield,  and 
innumerable  contributors  to  Peaks,  Passes, 
and  Glaciers  and  The  Alpine  JournaV* 

We  rubbed  our  eyes  when  we  read  these 
heterodox  sentiments  in  such  a  quarter. 
Mr.  Mathews  was,  perhaps,  an  Alpine  historian 
rather  than  a  writer  of  descriptive  prose,  and 
he  does  not  lend  himself  to  the  elegant  extract, 
though  he  is  the  author  of  some  very  quotable 
Alpine  sketches.  To  Mr.  Freshfield  we  owe, 
amongst  other  good  things,  one  short  passage 
as  dramatic  as  anything  in  Alpine  literature, 
the  passage  in  which  he  describes  the  dis- 
covery of  Donkin's  last  bivouac  on  Kosh- 
tantau.     The  Field  was  even  more  emphatic  : 

"  What  is  not  true  is  that  the  pioneer  sports- 
men who  founded  the  Alpine  Club  had 
exceptional  insight  into  the  moods  of  the 
snow.  One  or  two  of  them,  no  doubt,  struck 
out  a  little  literature  as  the  result  of  the 
impact  of  novel  experiences  upon  naive 
minds.  .  .  .  On  the  whole,  in  spite  of  their 
defects,  their  machine-made  perorations  and 
their  ponderous  jests,  they  brought  an  accept- 
able  addition  to  the  existing  stock  of  the 


THE  ALPS  IN  LITERATURE    211 

literature  of  adventure.  .  .  .  But  they  had 
their  limitations,  and  these  were  rather 
narrow.  They  dealt  almost  exclusively  with 
the  externals  of  mountaineering  experience; 
and  when  they  ventured  further  their  writing 
was  apt  to  be  of  the  quality  of  fustian.  Their 
spiritual  adventures  among  the  mountains 
were  apt  to  be  melodramatic  or  insignificant. 
Perhaps  their  Anglo-Saxon  reticence  prevented 
themselves  from  '  letting  themselves  go.'  .  .  . 
At  all  events  there  does  remain  this  notable 
distinction — ^that,  while  the  most  eloquent 
writings  of  the  most  eloquent  Alpine  Club- 
man are  as  a  rule  deliberately  and  ostenta- 
tiously objective,  the  subjective  literatiu'e  of 
mountains — the  literature  in  which  we  see 
the  writer  yielding  to  the  infli  ence  of  scenery, 
instead  of  lecturing  about  its  beauties,  existed 
long  before  that  famous  dinner  party  at  the 
house  of  William  Mathews,  senior,  at  which 
the  Alpine  Club  was  founded.  England,  as 
we  have  said,  contributed  practically,  nothing 
to  that  literature." 

We  have  quoted  this  passage  at  some  length 
because  it  expresses  a  novel  attitude  in  direct 
contradiction  to  the  accepted  views  sanctified 
by  tradition.  We  do  not  entirely  endorse  it. 
The  article  contains  proof  that  its  writer  has 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  early  Alpine  litera- 


212  THE  ALPS 

ture,  but  one  is  tempted  to  fancy  that  his 
research  did  not  survive  the  heavy  period 
of  the  'eighties,  and  that  he  is  unacquainted 
with  those  modern  writers  whose  work  is 
distinctly  subjective.  None  the  less,  his  con- 
tention suggests  an  interesting  line  of  study; 
and  in  this  chapter  we  shall  try  briefly  to 
sketch  the  main  tendencies,  though  we  cannot 
review  in  detail  the  whole  history,  of  Alpine 
literature,  a  subject  which  requires  a  book 
in  itself. 

The  mediaeval  attitude  towards  mountains 
has  already  been  discussed,  and  though  we 
ventured  to  protest  that  love  of  the  mountains 
was  not  quite  so  uncommon  as  is  usually  sup- 
posed, it  must  be  freely  admitted  that  the 
literature  of  the  Middle  Ages  is  comparatively 
barren  in  appreciation  of  mountain  scenery. 
There  were  Protestants  before  Luther,  and 
there  were  men  such  as  Gesner  and  Petrarch 
before  Rousseau;  but  the  Middle  Ages  can 
scarcely  rob  Rousseau  of  the  credit  for  trans- 
forming mountain  worship  from  the 'cult  of  a 
minority  into  a  comparatively  fashionable 
creed.  Rousseau's  own  feeling  for  the  moun- 
tains was  none  the  less  genuine  because  it 
was  sometimes  coloured  by  the  desire  to  make 
the  mountains  echo  his  own  philosophy  of  life. 
Rousseau,  in  this  respect,  set  a  fashion  which 
his  disciples  were  not  slow  to  follow.  ..  The 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     218 

mountains  as  the  home  of  the  rugged  Svritzer 
could  be  made  to  preach  edifying  lay  sermons 
on  the  value  of  liberty.  Such  sentiments  were 
in  tune  with  the  spirit  of  revolt  that  culminated 
in  the  French  Revolution.  A  certain  Haller 
had  sounded  this  note  long  before  Rousseau 
began  to  write,  in  a  poem  on  the  Alps  which, 
appearing  in  1728,  enjoyed  considerable  popu- 
larity. The  author  is  not  without  a  genuine 
appreciation  for  Alpine  scenery,  but  he  is 
far  more  occupied  with  his  moral,  the  contrast 
between  the  unsophisticated  life  of  the  moun- 
tain'peasant  and  the  hyper-civilisation  of  the 
town.  Throughout  the  writings' of  this  school 
which  Haller  anticipated  and  Rousseau 
founded, 'we  can  trace  an  obvious  connection 
between  a  love  for  the  untutored  freedom  of 
the  mountains  and  a  hatred  of  existing  social 
conditions. 

It  is,  therefore,  not  surprising  to  find  that 
this  new  school  of  mountain  worship  involved 
certain  views  which  found  most  complete 
expression  in  the  French  Revolution.  "  Man 
is  bom  free,  but  is  everywhere  in  chains." 
This,  the  famous  opening  to  The  Social 
Contract^  might  have  heralded  with  equal 
fitness  any  mountain  passage  in  the  works 
of  Rousseau  or  his  disciples.  Perhaps  these 
two  sentiments  are  nowhere  fused  with  such 
completeness  as  in  the  life  of  Ramond  de 


214  THE  ALPS 

Carbonni^re,  the  great  Pyrenean  climber. 
We  have  not  mentioned  him  before  as  he  took 
no  part  in  purely  Alpine  explorations.  But  as 
a  mountaineer  he  ranks  with  De  Saussure  and 
Paccard.  His  ascent  of  Mont  Perdu,  after 
many  attempts,  in  1802,  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  climbing  exploits  of  the  age.  He 
invented  a  new  kind  of  crampon.  He  rejoiced 
in  fatigue,  cold,  and  the  thousand  trials  that 
confronted  the  mountaineer  in  the  days  before 
club-huts.  His  own  personality  was  singularly 
arresting;  and  the  reader  should  consult  The 
Early  Mountaineers  for  a  more  complete 
sketch  of  the  man  than  we  have  space  to 
attempt.  Ramond  had  every  instinct  of  the 
modem  mountaineer.  Hedelighted  inhardship. 
He  could  appreciate  the  grandeur  of  a  moun- 
tain storm  while  sitting  on  an  exposed  ledge. 
He  lingers  with  a  delight  that  recalls  Gesner 
on  the  joy  of  simple  fare  and  rough  quarters. 
He  is  the  boon  companion  of  hunters  and 
smugglers;  and  through  all  his  mountain 
journeys  his  mind  is  alert  in  reacting  to  chance 
impressions. 

But  his  narrative  is  remarkable  for  some- 
thing else  besides  love  for  the  mountains.  It 
is  full  of  those  sentiments  which  came  to  a 
head  in  the  French  Revolution.  Mountain 
description  and  fierce  denunciations  of  tyranny 
are  mingled  in  the  oddest  fashion.     It  is  not 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     215 

surprising  that  Ramond,  who  finds  room  in  a 
book  devoted  to  mountaineering  for  a  prophecy 
of  the  Revolution,  should  have  played  an 
active  part  in  the  Revolution  when  it  came. 
Ramond  entered  the  Revolutionary  Parlia- 
ment as  a  moderate  reformer,  and  when  the 
leaders  of  the  Revolution  had  no  further  use 
for  moderate  reformers  he  found  himself  in 
the  gaol  at  Tarbres.  .  Here  he  was  fortunately 
forgotten,  and  survived  to  become  Maitre  des 
Requetes  under  Louis  XVIII.  Ramond  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  striking  example  of  the 
mountaineer  whose  love  for  mountains  was 
only  equalled  by  his  passion  for  freedom.  In 
some  ways,  he  is  worthier  of  our  admiration 
than  Rousseau,  for  he  not  only  admired 
mountains,  he  climbed  them.  He  not  only 
praised  the  simple  life  of  hardship,  he  endured  it. 
Turning  to  English  literature,  we  find  much 
the  same  processes  at  work.  The  two  great 
poets  whose  revolt  against  existing  society 
wasr-most  marked  yielded  the  Alps  a  generous 
measure  of  praise.  It  is  interesting  to  com- 
pare the  mountain  songs  of  Byron  and  Shelley. 
Byron's  verse  is  often  marred  by  his  obvious 
sense  of  the  theatre.  His  misanthropy  had, 
no  doubt,  its  genuine  as  well  as  its  purely 
theatrical  element,  but  it  becomes  tiresome 
as  the  motif  of  the  mountain  message.  No 
doubt  he  was  sincere  when  he  wrote — 


216  THE  ALPS 

"  I  live  not  in  myself,  but  I  become 
Portion  of  that  around  me,  and  to  me 
High  mountains  are  a  feeling,  but  the  sum 
Of  human  cities  torture." 

But  as  a  matter  of  actual  practice  no  man 
lived  more  in  himself,  and  instead  of  becoming 
a  portion  of  his  surroundings,  too  often  he 
makes  his  surroundings  take  colouring  from 
his  mood.  His  mountains  sometimes  seem 
to  have  degenerated  into  an  echo  of  Byron. 
They  are  too  anxious  to  advertise  the  whole 
gospel  of  misanthropy.  The  avalanche  roars 
a  little  too  lustily.  The  Alpine  glow  is  laid 
on  with  a  heavy  brush,  and  his  mountains 
cannot  wholly  escape  the  suspicion  of  bluster 
that  tends  to  degenerate  into  bombast.  This 
is  undeniable,  yet  Byron  at  his  best  is  difficult 
to  approach.  Freed  from  his  affectations,  his 
verse  often  rises  to  the  highest  levels  of  simple, 
unaffected  eloquence.  There  are  lines  in  The 
Prisoner  of  Chillon  with  an  authentic  appeal 
to  the  mountain  lover.  The  prisoner  has  been 
freed  from  the  chain  that  has  bound  him  for 
years  to  a  pillar,  and  he  is  graciously  allowed 
the  freedom  of  his  dungeon — a  concession  that 
may  not  have  appeared  unduly  liberal  to  his 
gaolers,  but  which  at  least  enabled  the 
prisoner  to  reach  a  window  looking  out  on 
to  the  hills — 


THE  ALPS   TN  LITERATURE     217 

"  I  made  a  footing  in  the  wall, 
It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape. 
Dut  I  was  curious  to  ascend 
To  my  barr'd  windows,  and  to  bend 
Once  more  upon  the  mountain  high 
The  quiet  of  a  loving  eye. 

I  saw  them  and  they  were  the  same 
They  were  not  changed  like  me  in  frame; 
I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 
On  high — their  wide  long  lake  below. 
And  the  blue  Rhone  in  fullest  flow ;  .  .  . 
I  saw  the  white  walled  distant  town; 
And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down ; 
And  then  there  was  a  little  isle 
Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile, 
The  only  one  in  view." 

As  the  train  swings  round  the  elbow  above 
the  lake,  the  mountaineer  released  from  the 
chain  of  city  life  can  echo  this  wish  to  bend 
the  quiet  of  a  loving  eye  on  unchanging 
mountains. 

Coleridge  has  some  good  lines  on  Mont 
Blanc,  but  one  feels  that  they  would  have 
applied  equally  well  to  any  other  mountain. 
Their  sincerity  is  somewhat  discounted  by 
the  fa^  ■  that  Coleridge  manufactured  an 
enthusiasm  for  Mont  Blanc  at  a  distance 
from  which  it  is  invisible. 


218  TIIE  ALPS 

With  Shelley,  we  move  in  a  different  atmo- 
sphere. Like  Byron,  he  rebelled  against 
society,  and  some  comfortable  admirers  of 
the  poetry  which  time  has  made  respectable 
are  apt  to  ignore  those  poems  which,  for 
passionate  protest  against  social  conditions, 
remained  unique  till  William  Morris  trans- 
formed Socialism  into  song.  Shelley  was 
more  sincere  in  his  revolt  than  Byron.  He 
did  not  always  keep  an  eye  on  the  gallery 
while  declaiming  his  rebellion,  and  his  moun- 
tains have  no  politics;  they  sing  their  own 
spontaneous  melodies.  Shelley  combined  the 
mystic's  vision  with  the  accuracy  of  a  trained 
observer.  His  descriptions  of  an  Alpine 
dawn,  or  a  storm  among  the  mountains, 
might  have  been  written  by  a  man  who  had 
studied  these  phenomena  with  a  note-book 
in  his  hand.  Nobody  has  ever  observed  with 
such  sympathy  "  the  dim  enchanted  shapes 
of  wandering  mist,"  or  brought  more  beauty 
to  their  praise.  Shelley's  cloud  poems  have 
the  same  fugitive  magic  that  haunts  the 
fickle  countries  of  the  sky  when  June  is  stirring 
in  those  windy  hills  where — 

"  Dense  fleecy  clouds 
Are  wandering  in  thick  flocks    among 

the  mountains 
Shepherded  by  the  slow  unwilling  wind." 


THE   ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     219 

Shelley  did  not  start  with  the  poem,  but  with 
the  mountain.  His  mountains  are  something 
more  than  a  convenient  instrument  for  the 
manufacture  of  rhyme.  He  did  not  write  a 
poem  about  mountains  as  a  pleasant  variation 
on  more  conventional  themes.  With  Shelley, 
you  know  that  poetry  was  the  handmaid  of 
the  hills,  the  one  medium  in  which  he  could 
fitly  express  his  own  passionate  worship  of 
every  accent  in  the  mountain  melody.  And 
for  these  reasons  Shelley  seems  to  us  a  truer 
mountain  poet  than  Byron,  truer  than  Cole- 
ridge, truer  even  than  Wordsworth,  for  Words- 
worth, though  some  of  his  Alpine  poetry  is 
very  good  indeed,  seems  more  at  home  in  the 
Cumberland  fells,  whose  quiet  music  no  other 
poet  has  ever  rendered  so  surely. 

The  early  literature  of  the  mountains  has 
an  atmosphere  which  has  largely  disappeared 
in  modern  Alpine  writing.  For,  to  the  pioneers 
of  Alpine  travel,  a  mountain  was  not  primarily 
a  thing  to  climb.  Even  men  like  Bourrit 
and  Ramond  de  Carbonni^re,  genuine  moun- 
taineers in  every  sense  of  the  term,  regarded 
the  great  heights  as  something  more  than 
fields  for  exploration,  as  the  shrines  of  an 
unseen  power  that  compelled  spontaneous 
worship.  These  men  saw  a  mountain,  and 
not  a  problem  in  gymnastics.  They  wrote 
of  mountains  with  a  certain  naive  eloquence, 


220  THE  ALPS 

often  highly  coloured,  sometimes  a  trifle 
bombastic.  But,  because  the  best  of  them 
had  French  blood  in  their  veins,  their  out- 
pourings were  at  least  free  from  Saxon  self- 
consciousness.  They  were  not  writing  for  an 
academic  audience  lenient  to  dullness,  but 
convulsed  with  agonies  of  shame  at  any 
suspicion  of  fine  writing.  One  shudders  to 
think  of  Bourrit  delivering  his  sonorous 
address  on  the  guides  of  Chamounix  as  the 
high  priests  of  humanity  before  the  average 
audience  that  assembles  to  hear  an  Alpine 
paper.  We  have  seen  two  old  gentlemen 
incapacitated  for  the  evening  by  a  paper 
pitched  on  a  far  more  subdued  note.  Yet, 
somehow,  the  older  writings  have  the  genuine 
ring.  They  have  something  lacking  in  the 
genial  rhapsodies  of  their  successors.  "  We 
can  never  over-estimate  what  we  owe  to  the 
Alps  "  :  thus  opens  a  characteristic  peroration 
to  an  Alpine  book  of  the  'eighties.  "  We  are 
indebted  to  them  and  all  their  charming 
associations  for  the  greatest  of  all  blessings, 
friendship  and  health.  It  has  been  con- 
clusively proved  that,  of  all  sports,  it  is  the 
one  which  can  be  protracted  to  the  greatest 
age.  It  is  in  the  mountains  that  our  youth  is 
renewed.  Young,  middle-aged,  or  old,  we  go 
out,  too  often  jaded  and  worn  in  mind  and 
body;  and  we  return  invigorated,  renewed. 


THE  ALPS   IN   LITERATURE     221 

restored,  fitted  for  the  fresh  labours  and  duties 
of  Hfe.  To  know  the  great  mountains  wholly 
is  impossible  for  any  of  us;  but  reverently  to 
learn  the  lessons  they  can  teach,  and  heartily 
to  enjoy  the  happiness  they  can  bring  is  pos- 
sible to  us  all." 

If  a  man  who  has  climbed  for  thirty  years 
cannot  pump  up  something  more  lively  as 
his  final  summary  of  Alpine  joys,  what  reply 
can  we  make  to  Ruskin's  contention  that  "  the 
real  beauties  of  the  Alps  are  to  be  seen  and  to 
be  seen  only  where  all  may  see  it,  the  cripple, 
the  child,  and  the  man  of  grey  hairs "  ? 
There  are  a  few  Alpine  writers  who  have  pro- 
duced an  apology  worthy  of  the  craft,  and 
have  shown  that  they  had  found  above  the 
snow-line  an  outlet  for  romance  unknown  to 
Ruskin's  cripple,  and  reserves  of  beauty  which 
Ruskin  himself  had  never  drawn,  and  there  are, 
on  the  other  hand,  quite  enough  to  explain, 
if  not  to  justify,  the  unlovely  conception  of 
Alpine  climbers  embodied  in  Ruskin's  amiable 
remarks  :  "  The  Alps  themselves,  which  your 
own  poets  used  to  love  so  reverently,  you  look 
upon  as  soaped  poles  in  a  beer  garden  which 
you  set  yourselves  to  climb  and  slide  down 
again  with  shrieks  of  delight.  When  you  are 
past  shrieking,  having  no  articulate  voice  to 
say  ycu  are  glad  with,  you  rush  home  red 
with    cutaneous    eruptions    of   conceit,    and 


222  THE   ALPS 

voluble  with  convulsive  hiccoughs  of  self- 
satisfaction." 

With  a  few  great  exceptions,  the  literature 
of  mountaineers  is  not  as  fine  as  the  literature 
of  mountain  lovers.  Let  us  see  what  the  men 
who  have  not  climbed  have  given  to  the 
praise  of  the  snows.  ^Vhat  mountaineer  has 
written  as  Ruskin  wrote  ?  Certainly  Ruskin 
at  his  best  reaches  heights  which  no  moun- 
taineer has  ever  scaled.  When  Ruskin  read 
his  Inaugural  Address  in  the  early  'fifties 
to  an  audience  in  the  main  composed  of 
Cambridge  undergraduates,  he  paused  for  a 
moment  and  glanced  up  at  his  audience. 
When  he  saw  that  the  fleeting  attention  of 
the  undergraduates  had  been  arrested  by  this 
sudden  pause,  he  declaimed  a  passage  which 
he  did  not  intend  any  of  them  to  miss,  a 
passage  describing  the  Alps  from  the  southern 
plains  :  "Out  from  between  the  cloudy  pillars 
as  they  pass,  emerge  for  ever  the  great  battle- 
ments of  the  memorable  and  perpetual 
hills."  .  .  .  When  he  paused  again,  after 
the  sonorous  fall  of  a  majestic  peroration, 
even  the  most  prosaic  of  undergraduates 
joined  in  the  turbulent  applause. 

"  Language  which  to  a  severe  taste  is  per- 
haps a  trifle  too  fine,"  is  Leslie  Stephen's 
characteristic  comment.  "  It  is  not  every 
one,"  he  adds,  with  trenchant  common  sense. 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     223 

*'  who  can  with  impunity  compare  Alps  to 
archangels."  Perhaps  not,  and  let  us  there- 
fore be  thankful  to  the  occasional  writer,  who, 
like  Ruskin  and  Leslie  Stephen  himself  at  his 
best,  is  not  shamed  into  dullness  by  the  fear 
of  soaring  too  high.  But  Ruskin  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  fine  writer.  No  man,  and 
no  mountaineer,  ever  loved  the  Alps  with  a 
more  absorbing  passion;  and,  in  the  whole 
realm  of  Alpine  literature,  there  is  no  passage 
more  pregnant  with  the  unreasoning  love  for 
the  hills  than  that  which  opens  :  "  For  to 
myself  mountains  are  the  beginning  and  the 
end  of  all  Alpine  scenery,"  and  ends  :  "  There 
is  not  a  wave  of  the  Seine  but  is  associated  in 
my  mind  with  the  first  rise  of  the  sandstones 
and  forest  pines  of  Fontainebleau ;  and  with 
the  hope  of  the  Alps,  as  one  leaves  Paris  with 
the  horses'  heads  to  the  south-west,  the 
morning  sun  flashing  on  the  bright  waves  at 
Charenton.  If  there  be  no  hope  or  association 
of  this  kind,  and  if  I  cannot  deceive  myself 
into  fancying  that,  perhaps  at  the  next  rise 
of  the  road,  there  may  be  seen  the  film  of  a 
blue  hill  in  the  gleam  of  sky  at  the  horizon, 
the  landscape,  however  beautiful,  produces  in 
me  even  a  kind  of  sickness  and  pain ;  and  the 
whole  view  from  Richmond  Hill  or  Windsor 
Terrace — nay,  the  gardens  of  Alcinous,  with 
their  perpetual  summer — or  of  the  Hesperides 


224  THE   ALPS 

(if  they  were  flat,  and  not  close  to  Atlas), 
golden  apples  and  all — I  would  give  away  in 
an  instant,  for  one  mossy  granite  stone  a  foot 
broad,  and  two  leaves  of  lady-fern." 

George  Meredith  was  no  mountaineer;  but 
his  mountain  passages  will  not  easily  be  beaten. 
His  description  of  the  Alps  seen  from  the 
Adriatic  contains,  perhaps,  the  subtlest  phrase 
in  literature  for  the  colouring  of  distant 
ranges  :  "  Colour  was  steadfast  on  the  massive 
front  ranks ;  it  wavered  in  its  remoteness  and 
was  quick  and  dim  as  though  it  jell  on  heating 
wings."  And  no  climber  has  analysed  the 
climber's  conflicting  emotions  with  such 
sympathetic  acuteness.  "  Would  you  know 
what  it  is  to  hope  again,  and  have  all  your 
hopes  at  hand?  Hang  upon  the  crags  at  a 
gradient  that  makes  your  next  step  a  debate 
between  the  thing  you  are  and  the  thing  you 
may  become.  There  the  merry  little  hopes 
grow  for  the  climber  like  flowers  and  food, 
immediate,  prompt  to  prove  their  uses, 
sufficient  if  just  within  grasp,  as  mortal  hopes 
should  be." 

We  have  quoted  Ruskin's  great  tribute  to 
the  romance  which  still  haunts  the  journey 
to  the  Alps  even  for  those  who  are  brought 
up  on  steam.  Addington  Symonds  was  no 
mountaineer;  but  he  writes  of  this  journey 
with  an  enthusiasm  which  rings  truer  than 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     225 

much  in  Alpine  adventure  :  "Of  all  the  joys 
in  life,  none  is  greater  than  the  joy  of  arriving 
on  the  outskirts  of  Switzerland  at  the  end  of  a 
long  dusty  day's  journey  from  Paris.  The 
true  epicure  in  refined  pleasures  will  never 
travel  to  Basle  by  night.  He  courts  the  heat 
of  the  sun  and  the  monotony  of  French 
plains — ^their  sluggish  streams,  and  never- 
ending  poplar  trees — for  the  sake  of  the 
evening  coolness  and  the  gradual  approach 
to  the  great  Alps,  which  await  him  at  the 
close  of  the  day.  It  is  about  Mulhausen  that 
he  begins  to  feel  a  change  in  the  landscape. 
The  fields  broaden  into  rolling  downs,  watered 
by  clear  and  running  streams ;  the  great  Swiss 
thistle  grows  by  riverside  and  cowshed ;  pines 
begin  to  tuft  the  slopes  of  gently  rising  hills ; 
and  now  the  sun  has  set,  the  stars  come  out, 
first  Hesper,  then  the  troop  of  lesser  lights; 
and  he  feels — yes,  indeed,  there  is  now  no 
mistake — the  well-known,  well-loved,  magical 
fresh  air,  that  never  fails  to  blow  from  snowy 
mountains,  and  meadows  watered  by  perennial 
streams.  The  last  hour  is  one  of  exquisite 
enjoyment,  and  when  he  reaches  Basle  he 
scarcely  sleeps  all  night  for  hearing  the  swift 
Rhine  beneath  the  balconies,  and  knowing 
that  the  moon  is  shining  on  its  waters,  through 
the  town,  beneath  the  bridges,  between 
pasture-lands  and  copses,  up  the  still  mountain- 


226  THE   ALPS 

girdled  valleys  to  the  ice-caves  where  the 
water  springs.  There  is  nothing  in  all  ex- 
perience of  travelling  like  this.  We  may 
greet  the  Mediterranean  at  Marseilles  with 
enthusiasm;  on  entering  Rome  by  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  we  may  reflect  with  pride  that 
we  have  reached  the  goal  of  our  pilgrimage, 
and  are  at  last  among  world-shaking  memories. 
But  neither  Rome  nor  the  Riviera  wins  our 
hearts  like  Switzerland.  We  do  not  lie  awake 
in  London  thinking  of  them ;  we  do  not  long 
so  intensely,  as  the  year  comes  round,  to 
revisit  them.  Our  affection  is  less  a  passion 
than  that  which  we  cherish  for  Switzerland." 
Among  modern  writers  there  is  Mr.  Belloc, 
who  stands  self-confessed  as  a  man  who 
refuses  to  climb  for  fear  of  "  slipping  down." 
Mr.  Belloc  has  French  blood  in  his  veins,  and 
he  is  not  cursed  with  British  reserve.  In  his 
memorable  journey  along  the  path  to  Rome, 
he  had,  perforce,  to  cross  the  Jura,  and  this 
is  how  the  first  saw  the  Alps — 

"  I  saw,  between  the  branches  of  the  trees 
in  front  of  me,  a  sight  in  the  sky  that  made 
me  stop  breathing,  just  as  a  great  danger  at 
sea,  or  great  surprise  in  love,  or  a  great 
deliverance  will  make  a  man  stop  breathing. 
I  saw  something  I  had  known  in  the  West  as 
a  boy,  something  I  had  never  seen  so  grandly 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     227 

discovered  as  was  this.  In  between  the 
branches  of  the  trees  was  a  great  promise 
of  unexpected  lights  beyond.  .  .  . 

"  Here  were  these  magnificent  creatures  of 
God,  I  mean  the  Alps,  which  now  for  the  first 
time  I  saw  from  the  height  of  the  Jura;  and, 
because  they  were  fifty  or  sixty  miles  away, 
and  because  they  were  a  mile  or  two  high, 
they  were  become  something  different  from 
us  others,  and  could  strike  one  motionless 
with  the  awe  of  supernatural  things.  Up 
there  in  the  sky,  to  which  only  clouds  belong, 
and  birds,  and  the  last  trembling  colours  of 
pure  light,  they  stood  fast  and  hard;  not 
moving  as  do  the  things  of  the  sky.  .  .  . 

"  These,  the  great  Alps,  seen  thus,  link  one 
in  some  way  to  one's  immortality.  Nor  is  it 
possible  to  convey,  or  even  to  suggest,  those 
few  fifty  miles,  and  those  few  thousand  feet; 
there  is  something  more.  Let  me  put  it  thus  : 
that  from  the  height  of  Weissenstein  I  saw,  as 
it  were,  my  religion.  I  mean  humility,  the 
fear  of  death,  the  terror  of  height  and  of  dis- 
tance, the  glory  of  God,  the  infinite  potenti- 
ality of  reception  whence  springs  that  divine 
thirst  of  the  soul ;  my  aspiration  also  towards 
completion,  and  my  confidence  in  the  dual 
destiny.  For  I  know  that  we  laughers  have 
a  gross  cousinship  with  the  most  high,  and 
it  is  this  contrast  and  perpetual  quarrel  which 


228  THE   ALPS 

feeds  a  spring  of  merriment  in  the  soul  of  a 
sane  man.  .  .  .  That  it  is  also  which  leads 
some  men  to  climb  mountain  tops,  but  not 
me,  for  I  am  afraid  of  slipping  down." 

That  is  subjective  enough,  with  a  vengeance ; 
for  those  few  lines  one  would  gladly  sacrifice 
a  whole  shelf  full  of  climbing  literature  dealing 
with  the  objective  fac.s  that  do  not  vary 
with  the  individual  observer. 

Mr.  Kipling  again,  though  no  mountaineer, 
has  struck  out  one  message  which  most 
mountaineers  would  sacrifice  a  season's  climb- 
ing to  have  written.  A  brief  quotation  gives 
only  a  faint  impression  of  its  beauty — 

"  At  last,  they  entered  a  world  within  a 
world — a  valley  of  leagues  where  the  high 
hills  were  fashioned  of  the  mere  rubble  and 
refuse  from  off  the  knees  of  the  mountains. 
Here,  one  day's  march  carried  them  no  farther, 
it  seemed,  than  a  dreamer's  clogged  pace 
bears  him  in  a  nightmare.  They  skirted  a 
shoulder  painfully  for  hours,  and  behold,  it 
was  but  an  outlying  boss  in  an  outlying 
buttress  of  the  main  pile  I  A  rounded  meadow 
revealed  itself,  when  they  had  reached  it, 
for  a  vast  table-land  running  far  into  the 
valley.  Three  days  later,  it  was  a  dim  fold 
in  the  earth  to  southward. 


THE  ALPS   IN   LITERATURE     229 

"  *  Surely  the  Gods  live  here,'  said  Kim, 
beaten  down  by  the  silence  and  the  appalling 
sweep  and  dispersal  of  the  cloud-shadows 
after  rain.     '  This  is  no  place  for  men  I  * 

"  Above  them,  still  enormously  above  them, 
earth  towered  away  towards  the  snow-line, 
where  from  east  to  west  across  hundreds  of 
miles,  ruled  as  with  a  ruler,  the  last  of  the 
bold  birches  stopped.  Above  that,  in  scarps 
and  blocks  upheaved,  the  rocks  strove  to 
fight  their  heads  above  the  white  smother. 
Above  these  again,  changeless  since  the 
world's  beginning,  but  changing  to  every 
mood  of  sun  and  cloud,  lay  out  the  eternal 
snow.  They  could  see  blots  and  blurs  on 
its  face  where  storm  and  wandering  wuUie-wa 
got  up  to  dance.  Below  them,  as  they  stood, 
the  forest  slid  away  in  a  sheet  of  blue-green 
for  mile  upon  mile;  below  the  forest  was  a 
village  in  its  sprinkle  of  terraced  fields  and 
steep  grazing-grounds ;  below  the  village  they 
knew,  though  a  thunderstorm  worried  and 
growled  there  for  the  moment,  a  pitch  of 
twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  feet  gave  to  the 
moist  valley  where  the  streams  gather  that 
are  the  mothers  of  young  Sutluj." 

Then  there  is  Mr.  Algernon  Blackwood,  who 
is,  I  think,  rather  a  ski-runner  than  a  moun- 
taineer.    Certainly    he    has    unravelled    the 


230  THE  ALPS 

psychology  of  hill-wandering,  and  discovered 
something  of  that  strange  personality  behind 
the  mountains.  No  writer  has  so  successfully 
caught  the  uncanny  atmosphere  that  some- 
times haunts  the  hills. 

The  contrast  is  even  more  marked  in  poetry 
than  in  prose.  In  prose,  we  have  half-a-dozen 
Alpine  books  that  would  satisfy  a  severe 
critic.  In  poetry,  only  one  mountaineer  has 
achieved  outstanding  success.  Mr.  G.  Win- 
throp  Young,  alone,  has  transferred  the 
essential  romance  of  mountaineering  into 
poetry  which  not  mountaineers  alone,  but 
every  lover  of  finished  craftsmanship,  will 
read  with  something  deeper  than  pleasure. 
But,  while  Mr.  Young  has  no  rival  in  the 
poetry  of  mountaineering,  there  is  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  excellent  verse  of  which 
mountains  are  the  theme.  We  have  spoken 
of  Shelley  and  Byron.  Among  more  modem 
poets  there  is  Tennyson.  He  wrote  little 
mountain  poetry,  and  yet  in  four  lines  he  has 
crystallised  the  whole  essence  of  the  Alpine 
vision  from  some  distant  sentinel  of  the 
plains — 

"  How  faintly  flushed,  how  phantom  fair 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 

A  thousand  shadowy  pencilled  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air.'* 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     281 

Sydney  D  obeli  has  some  good  mountain 
verse;  and  if  we  had  not  already  burdened 
this  chapter  with  quotations  we  should  have 
borrowed  from  those  descriptions  in  which 
Morris  clearly  recalls  the  savage  volcanic 
scenery  of  Iceland.  Swinburne,  in  the  lines 
beginning — 

*'  Me  the  snows 
That  face  the  first  of  the  morning  " — 

has  touched  some  of  the  less  obvious  spells 
of  hill  region  with  his  own  unerring  instinct 
for  beauty. 

F.  W.  H.  Myers  in  eight  lines  has  said  all 
that  need  be  said  when  the  hills  have  claimed 
the  ultimate  penalty — 

**  Here  let  us  leave  him  :    for  his  shroud  the 
snow, 

For  funeral  lamps  he  has  the  planets  seven. 
For  a  great  sign  the  icy  stair  shall  go 
Between  the  stars  to  heaven. 

One  moment  stood  he  as  the  angels  stand. 
High  in  the  stainless  eminence  of  air. 

The  next  he  was  not,  to  his  fatherland 
Translated  unaware." 

Mrs.  Holland  has  written,  as  a  dedication 
for  a  book  of  Alpine  travel,  lines  which  have 


282  THE   ALPS 

the  authentic  note;  and  Mr.  Masefield  in  a 
few  verses  has  caught  the  savage  aloofness 
of  the  peaks  better  than  most  mountaineers 
in  pages  of  redundant  description. 

The  contrast  is  rather  too  marked  between 
the  work  of  those  who  loved  mountains  with- 
out cUmbing  them  and  the  Hterature  of  the 
professional  mountaineers.  Even  writers  like 
Mr.  Kipling,  who  have  only  touched  mountains 
in  a  few  casual  lines,  seem  to  have  captured 
the  mountain  atmosphere  more  successfully 
than  many  a  climber  who  has  devoted  articles 
galore  to  his  craft.  Of  course,  Mr.  Kipling 
is  a  genius  and  the  average  Alpine  writer  is 
not;  but  surely  one  might  not  unreasonably 
expect  a  unique  literature  from  those  who 
know  the  mountains  in  all  their  changing 
tenses,  and  who  by  service  of  toil  and  danger 
have  wrung  '  from  them  intimate  secrets 
unguessed  at  by  those  who  linger  outside  the 
shrine. 

Mountaineering  has,  of  course,  produced 
some  great  literature.  There  is  Leslie 
Stephen,  though  even  Stephen  at  his  best  is 
immeasurably  below  Ruskin's  finest  mountain 
passages.  But  Leslie  Stephens  are  rare  in 
the  history  of  Alpine  literature,  whereas  the 
inarticulate  are  always  with  us. 

In  some  ways,  the  man  who  can  worship 
a  mountain  without  wishing  to  climb  it  has 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     238 

a  certain  advantage.  He  sees  a  vision,  where 
the  climber  too  often  sees  nothing  but  a 
variation  route.  The  popular  historian  has 
often  a  more  vivid  picture  of  a  period  thaji 
the  expert,  whose  comprehensive  knowledge 
of  obscure  charters  sometimes  blinds  him 
to  the  broad  issues  of  history.  Technical 
knowledge  does  not  always  make  for  under- 
standing. The  first  great  revelation  of  the 
mountains  has  a  power  that  is  all  its  own.  To 
the  man  who  has  yet  to  climb,  every  mountain 
is  virgin,  every  snow-field  a  mystery,  undefiled 
by  traffic  with  man.  The  first  vision  passes, 
and  the  love  that  is  based  on  understand- 
ing supplants  it.  The  vision  of  unattainable 
snows  translates  itself  into  terms  of  memory 
— ^that  white  gleam  that  once  belonged  to 
dreamland  into  an  ice-wall  with  which  you 
have  wrestled  through  the  scorching  hours 
of  a  July  afternoon.  You  have  learned  to 
spell  the  writing  on  the  wall  of  the  mountains. 
The  magic  of  first  love,  with  its  worship  of  the 
unattainable,  is  too  often  transformed  into 
the  soberer  affection  founded,  like  domestic 
love,  on  knowledge  and  sympathy;  and  the 
danger  would  be  greater  if  the  fickle  hills  had 
not  to  be  wooed  afresh  every  season.  Beyond 
the  mountain  that  we  climb  and  seem  to  know, 
lurks  ever  the  visionary  peak  that  we  shall 
never  conquer;    and  this  unattainable  ideal 


284  THE   ALPS 

gives  an  eternal  youth  to  the  hills,  and  a  never- 
failing  vitality  to  our  Alpine  adventure.  Yet 
when  we  begin  to  set  down  our  memories  of 
the  mountains,  it  seems  far  easier  to  recall 
those  objective  facts,  which  are  the  same  for 
all  comers,  the  meticulous  details  of  route, 
the  conditions  of  snow  and  ice,  and  to  omit 
from  our  epic  that  subjective  vision  of  the 
mountain,  that  individual  impression  which 
alone  lends  something  more  than  a  technical 
interest  to  the  story  of  our  days  among  the 
snow.  And  so  it  is  not  altogether  surprising 
that  the  man  who  has  never  climbed  can 
write  more  freely  and  more  fully  of  the 
mountains,  since  he  has  no  expert  knowledge 
to  confuse  the  issue,  no  technical  details  to 
obscure  the  first  fine  careless  rapture. 

The  early  mountaineers  entered  into  a 
literary  field  that  was  almost  unexplored. 
They  could  write  of  their  hill  journeys  with 
the  assurance  of  men  branching  out  into 
unknown  byways.  They  could  linger  on 
the  commonplaces  of  hill  travel,  and  praise 
the  freedom  of  the  hills  with  the  air  of  men 
enunciating  a  paradox.  To  glorify  rough  fare, 
simple  quarters,  a  bed  of  hay,  a  drink  quaffed 
from  the  mountain  stream,  must  have 
afforded  Gesner  the  same  intellectual  pleasure 
that  Mr.  Chesterton  derives  from  the  praise  of 
Battersea  and  Beer.     And  this  joy  in  emotions 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     235  < 

which  had  yet  to  be  considered  trite  lingers 
on  even  into  the  more  sedate  pages  of  Peaks, 
Passes,  and  Glaciers.  The  contributors  to 
those  classic  volumes  were  rather  frightened 
of  letting  themselves  go;  but  here  and  there 
one  lights  on  some  spontaneous  expression  of 
delight  in  the  things  that  are  the  very  flesh 
and  blood  of  our  Alpine  experience — the 
bivouac  beneath  the  stars,  the  silent  approach 
of  dawn,  the  freemasonry  of  the  rope,  the 
triumph  of  the  virgin  summit.  "  Times  have 
changed  since  then,"  wrote  Donald  Robertson 
in  a  recent  issue  of  The  Alpine  Journal — 

"  Times  have  changed  since  then,  and  with 
them  Alpine  literature.  Mountaineering  has 
become  a  science,  and,  as  in  other  sciences,  the 
professor  has  grown  impatient  of  the  average 
intelligence,  and  evolved  his  own  tongue. 
To  write  for  the  outside  public  is  to  incur  the 
odium  of  '  popular  science,'  a  form  of  literature 
fascinating  to  me,  but  anathema  to  all  right- 
minded  men.  Those  best  qualified  to  speak 
will  only  address  themselves  to  those  qualified 
to  listen,  and  therefore  only  in  the  jargon  of 
their  craft.  But  the  hall-mark  of  technical 
writing  is  the  assumption  of  common  know- 
ledge. Wliat  all  readers  know  for  themselves, 
it  is  needless  and  even  impertinent  to  state. 
Hence,  in  the  climbing  stories  written  foe  the 


236  THE   ALPS 

elect,  the  features  common  to  all  climbs  must 
either  be  dismissed  with  a  brief  reference,  or 
lightly  treated  as  things  only  interesting  in 
so  far  as  they  find  novel  expression." 

Those  who  worship  Clio  the  muse  will  try 
to  preserve  the  marriage  of  history  and 
literature,  but  those  whose  only  claim  to 
scholarship  is  their  power  to  collate  facts  by 
diligent  research,  those  who  have  not  the 
necessary  ability  to  weave  these  facts  into  a 
vital  pattern,  will  always  protest  their  devo- 
tion to  what  is  humorously  dubbed  scientific 
history.  So  in  the  Alpine  world,  which  has 
its  own  academic  traditions  and  its  own 
mandarins,  you  will  find  that  those  who 
cannot  translate  emotions  (which  it  is  to  be 
hoped  they  share)  into  language  which  any- 
body could  understand  are  rather  apt  to 
explain  their  discreet  silence,  by  the  posses- 
sion of  a  delicate  reserve  that  forbids  them  to 
emulate  the  fine  writing  of  a  Ruskin  or  the 
purple  patches  of  Meredith. 

Now,  it  should  be  possible  to  discriminate 
between  those  who  endeavour  to  clothe  a  fine 
emotion  in  worthy  language,  and  those  who 
start  with  the  intention  of  writing  finely,  and 
look  round  for  a  fine  emotion  to  serve  as  the 
necessary  peg.  Sincerity  is  the  touchstone 
that   discriminates  the  fine  writing  that  is 


THE  ALPS   IN   LITERATURE     287 

good,  and  the  fine  writing  that  is  damnable. 
The  emotions  that  are  the  essence  of  moun- 
taineering deserve  something  better  than  the 
genteel  peroration  of  the  average  climbing 
book.  Alpine  literature  is  a  trifle  deficient 
in  fine  frenzy.  The  Mid-Victorian  pose  of  the 
bluff,  downright  Briton,  whose  surging  flood 
of  emotions  is  concealed  beneath  an  affecta- 
tion of  cynicism,  is  apt  to  be  tedious,  and  one 
wonders  whether  emotions  so  consistently 
and  so  successfully  suppressed  really  existed 
within  those  stolid  bosoms.      *  '■    :■ 

A  great  deal  of  Alpine  literature  appeals, 
and  rightly  appeals,  only  to  the  expert.  Such 
contributions  are  not  intended  as  descriptive 
literature.  They  may,  as  the  record  of 
research  into  the  early  records  of  mountaineer- 
ing and  mountains,  supply  a  much-needed 
link  in  the  history  of  the  craft.  As  the  record 
of  new  exploration,  they  are  sure  to  interest 
the  expert,  while  their  exact  description  of 
routes  and  times  will  serve  as  the  material  for 
future  climbers'  guides.  But  this  is  not  the 
whole  of  Alpine  literature,  and  the  danger  is 
that  those  who  dare  not  attempt  the  sub- 
jective aspects  of  mountaineering  should 
frighten  off  those  who  have  the  necessary 
ability  by  a  tedious  repetition  of  the  phrase 
*'  fine  writing,"  that  facile  refuge  of  the 
Philistine.     The  conventional  Alpine  article 


238  THE  ALPS 

is  a  dreary  affair.  Its  humour  is  antique,  and 
consists  for  the  most  part  in  jokes  about  fleas 
and  porters,  and  in  the  substitution  of  long 
phrases  for  simple  ones.  Its  satire  is  even 
thinner.  The  root  assumption  that  the  Alpine 
climber  is  a  superior  person,  and  that  social 
status  varies  with  the  height  above  sea  level, 
recurs  with  monotonous  regularity.  The  joke 
about  the  tripper  is  as  old  as  the  Flood,  and 
the  instinct  that  resents  his  disturbing  presence 
is  not  quite  the  hall-mark  of  the  aesthetic  soul 
that  some  folk  seem  to  think.  It  is  as  old  as 
the  primitive  man  who  espied  a  desirable  glade, 
and  lay  in  wait  for  the  first  tourist  with  a 
club.  "  My  friends  tell  me,"  writes  a  well- 
known  veteran,  "  that  I  am  singular  in  this 
strange  desire  to  avoid  meeting  the  never- 
ceasing  stream  of  tourists,  and  I  am  beginning 
to  believe  that  they  are  right,  and  that  I  am 
differently  constituted  from  other  people." 
The  author  of  this  trite  confession  has  only 
to  study  travel  literature  in  general  and  Alpine 
literature  in  particular  to  discover  that  quite 
commonplace  folk  can  misquote  the  remark 
about  the  madding  crowd,  and  that  even 
members  of  the  lower  middle  class  have  been 
known  to  put  the  sentiment  into  practice. 
A  sense  of  humour  and  a  sense  for  solitude 
are  two  things  which  their  true  possessors  are 
chary  of  mentioning. 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE    289 

It  might  be  fairly  argued  that  the  average 
mountaineer  does  not  pretend  to  be  a  writer, 
fine  or  otherwise,  that  he  describes  his  climbs 
in  a  club  journal  intended  for  a  friendly  and 
uncritical  audience,  and  that  he  leaves  the 
defence  of  his  sport  to  the  few  men  who  can 
obtain  the  hearing  of  a  wider  audience.  That 
is  fair  comment ;  and,  fortunately,  mountain- 
eering is  not  without  the  books  that  are 
classics  not  only  of  Alpine  but  also  of  English 
literature. 

First  to  claim  mention  is  Peaks,  Passes, 
and  Glaciers,  a  volume  "  so  fascinating,"  writes 
Donald  Robertson,  "  so  inspiring  a  gospel  of 
adventure  and  full,  free  life,  that  the  call 
summoned  to  the  hills  an  army  of  seekers 
after  the  promised  gold."  That  is  true 
enough.  But  the  charm  of  these  pages,  which 
is  undoubted,  is  much  more  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  contributors  had  a  good  story  to  tell 
than  to  any  grace  of  style  with  which  they 
told  it.  The  contributors  were  drawn  from 
all  walks  of  life — barristers,  Manchester  mer- 
chants, schoolmasters,  dons,  clergymen,  and 
scientists ;  and  unless  we  must  affect  to  believe 
that  Alpine  climbing  inspires  its  devotees 
with  the  gift  of  tongues,  we  need  not  appear 
guilty  of  irreverence  for  the  pioneers  if  we 
discriminate  between  the  literary  and  in- 
trinsic    merit    of    their    work.     They    were 


240  THE  ALPS 

educated  men.  They  did  not  split  their 
infinitives,  and  they  could  express  their 
thoughts  in  the  King's  English,  a  predecent 
not  always  followed  by  their  successors.  We 
must,  however,  differentiate  between  the 
Alpine  writing  which  gives  pleasure  because 
of  its  associations,  and  the  literature  which 
delights  not  only  for  its  associations  and  story, 
but  also  for  its  beauty  of  expression.  Let  us, 
as  an  example,  consider  two  passages  describ- 
ing an  Alpine  dawn — 

"  We  set  out  from  the  bivouac  at  three  in 
the  morning.  The  night  was  cloudless,  and 
the  stars  shone  with  a  truly  majestic  beauty. 
Ahead  of  us,  we  could  just  see  the  outline  of 
the  great  peak  we  proposed  to  attack.  Gradu- 
ally, the  east  lightened.  The  mountains  be- 
came more  distinct.  The  eastern  sky  paled, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  glorious  sun 
caught  the  topmost  peaks,  and  painted  their 
snows  with  the  fiery  hues  of  dawn.  It  was  a 
most  awe-compelling  spectacle." 

This  passage  may  please  us,  not  because 
the  language  is  fine  or  the  thoughts  subtly 
expressed,  but  simply  because  the  scenes  so 
inadequately  described  recall  those  which 
we  ourselves  have  witnessed.  The  passage 
would  convey  little  to  a  man  who  had  never 
climbed.    Now  consider  the  following — 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE    241 

"  On  the  glacier,  the  light  of  a  day  still  to 
be  born  put  out  our  candles.  .  .  .  We  halted 
to  watch  the  procession  of  the  sun.  He  came 
out  of  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  very 
slowly,  lighting  peak  after  peak  in  the  long 
southward  array,  dwelling  for  a  moment,  and 
then  passing  on.  Opposite,  and  first  to  catch 
the  glow,  were  the  great  mountains  of  the 
Saasgrat  and  the  Weisshorn.  But  more 
beautiful,  like  the  loom  of  some  white-sailed 
ship  far  out  at  sea,  each  unnamed  and  un- 
numbered peak  of  the  east  took  and  reflected  the 
radiance  of  the  morning.  The  light  mists 
which  came  before  the  sun  faded."  .  .  . 

Like  the  other  passage  this  brief  description 
starts  a  train  of  memories;  but,  whereas  the 
first  passage  would  convey  little  to  a  non- 
climber.  Sir  Claud  Schuster  has  really  thought 
out  the  sequence  of  the  dawn,  and  has  caught 
one  of  its  finer  and  subtler  effects  by  the  use 
of  a  very  happy  analogy.  The  phrase  which 
we  have  ventured  to  italicise  defines  in  a  few 
words  a  brief  scene  in  the  drama  of  the  dawn, 
an  impression  that  could  not  be  conveyed  by 
piling  adjective  on  adjective. 

There  are  many  writers  who  have  captured 
the  romance  of  mountaineering,  far  fewer  who 
have  the  gift  for  that  happy  choice  of  words 
that  gives  the  essence  of  a  particular  Alpine 


(V 


242  THE  ALPS 

view.  Pick  up  any  Alpine  classic  at  a  venture, 
and  you  will  find  that  not  one  writer  in  fifty 
can  hold  your  attention  through  a  long  passage 
of  descriptive  writing.  The  average  writer 
piles  on  his  adjectives.  From  the  Alpine 
summit  you  can  see  a  long  way.  The  horizon 
seems  infinitely  far  off.  The  valleys  sink 
below  into  profound  shadows.  The  eye  is 
carried  from  the  dark  firs  upward  to  the 
glittering  snowfields.  "  The  majestic  mass  of 
the  .  .  .  rises  to  the  north,  and  blots  out  the 
lesser  ranges  of  the  ....  The  awful  heights 
of  the  .  .  .  soar  upwards  from  the  valley 
of  ...  In  the  east,  we  could  just  catch  d 
glimpse  of  the  .  .  .  and  our  guides  assured 
us  that  in  the  west  we  could  veritably  see  the 
distant  snows  of  our  old  friend  the  .  .  ."  And 
so  on,  and  so  forth.  Fill  in  the  gaps,  and  this 
skeleton  description  can  be  made  to  fit  the 
required  panorama.  It  roughly  represents 
nine  out  of  ten  word  pictures  of  Alpine  views. 
Examine  Whymper's  famous  description  of 
the  view  from  the  Matterhorn.  It  is  little 
more  than  a  catalogue  of  mountains.  There 
is  hardly  a  phrase  in  it  that  would  convey  the 
essential  atmosphere  of  such  a  view  to  a  man 
who  had  not  seen  it. 

Genius  has  been  defined  as  the  power  of 
seeing  analogies,  and  we  have  sometimes 
fancied  that  the  secret  of  all  good  Alpine 


THE  ALPS   IN  LITERATURE     243 

description  lies  in  the  happy  choice  of  the 
right  analogy.  It  is  no  use  accumulating  the 
adjective  at  random.  Peaks  are  high  and 
majestic,  the  snow  is  white.  Certainly  this 
does  not  help  us.  What  we  need  is  some 
happily  chosen  phrase  which  goes  deeper  than 
the  obvious  epithets  that  apply  to  every 
peak  and  every  snowfield.  We  want  the 
magical  phrase  that  differentiates  one  parti- 
cular Alpine  setting  from  another.  And  this 
phrase  will  often  be  some  apparently  casual 
analogy  drawn  from  something  which  has  no 
apparent  connection  with  the  Alps.  "  Beauti- 
ful like  the  loom  of  some  white-sailed  ship," 
IS  an  example  which  we  have  already  quoted. 
Leslie  Stephen's  work  is  full  of  such  analogies. 
He  does  not  waste  adjectives.  His  adjectives 
are  chosen  for  a  particular  reason.  His 
epithets  all  do  work.  Read  his  description 
of  the  view  from  Mont  Blanc,  the  Peaks  of 
Primiero,  the  Alps  in  winter,  and  you  feel 
that  these  descriptions  could  not  be  made  to 
apply  to  other  Alpine  settings  by  altering  the 
names  and  suppressing  an  occasional  phrase. 
They  are  charged  with  the  individual  atmo- 
sphere of  the  place  which  gave  them  birth. 
In  the  most  accurate  sense  of  the  word,  they 
are  autocthonous.  A  short  quotation  will 
illustrate  these  facts.  Here  is  Stephen's 
description  of  the  view  from  the  Schreckhom. 


244  THE  ALPS 

Notice  that  he  achieves  his  effect  without  the 
usual  largess  of  jewellery.  Topaz  and  opal 
are  dispensed  with,  and  their  place  is  taken 
by  casual  and  apparently  careless  analogies 
from  such  diversified  things  as  an  opium 
dream,  music,  an  idle  giant. 

"  You  are  in  the  centre  of  a  whole  district 
of  desolation,  suggesting  a  landscape  from 
Greenland,  or  an  imaginary  picture  of  England 
in  the  glacial  epoch,  with  shores  yet  unvisited 
by  the  irrepressible  Gulf  Stream.  The  charm 
of  such  views — little  as  they  are  generally 
appreciated  by  professed  admirers  of  the 
picturesque — is  to  my  taste  unique,  though 
not  easily  explained  to  unbelievers.  They 
have  a  certain  soothing  influence  like  slow 
and  stately  music,  or  one  of  the  strange  opium 
dreams  described  by  De  Quincey.  If  his 
journey  in  the  mail-coach  could  have  led  him 
through  an  Alpine  pass  instead  of  the  quiet 
Cumberland  hills,  he  would  have  seen  visions 
still  more  poetical  than  that  of  the  minister 
in  the  '  dream  fugue.'  Unable  as  I  am  to  bend 
his  bow,  I  can  only  say  that  there  is  something 
almost  unearthly  in  the  sight  of  enormous 
spaces  of  hill  and  plain,  apparently  un- 
substantial as  a  mountain  mist,  glimmering 
away  to  the  indistinct  horizon,  and  as  it  were 
spell-bound  by  an  absolute  and  eternal  silence. 


THE  ALPS   IN   LITERATURE     245 

The  sentiment  may  be  very  different  when  a 
storm  is  raging  and  nothing  is  visible  but  the 
black  ribs  of  the  mountains  glaring  at  you 
through  rents  in  the  clouds;  but  on  that 
perfect  day  on  the  top  of  the  Schreckhorn, 
where  not  a  wreath  of  vapour  was  to  be  seen 
under  the  whole  vast  canopy  of  the  sky,  a 
delicious  lazy  sense  of  calm  repose  was  the 
appropriate  frame  of  mind.  One  felt  as  if 
some  immortal  being,  with  no  particular 
duties  upon  his  hands,  might  be  calmly 
sitting  upon  those  desolate  rocks  and  watching 
the  little  shadowy  wrinkles  of  the  plain,  that 
were  really  mountain  ranges,  rise  and  fall 
through  slow  geological  epochs." 

Whymper  never  touches  this  note  even  in 
the  best  of  many  good  mountain  passages. 
His  forte  was  rather  the  romance  of  Alpine 
adventure  than  the  subtler  art  of  reproducing 
Alpine  scenery.  But  in  his  own  line  he  is 
without  a  master.  His  style,  of  course,  was 
not  so  uniformly  good  as  Stephen's.  He  had 
terrible  lapses.  He  spoils  his  greatest  chapter 
by  a  most  uncalled-for  anti-climax.  He  had 
a  weakness  for  banal  quotations  from  third- 
rate  translations  of  the  classics.  But,  though 
these  lapses  are  irritating,  there  is  no  book 
like  the  famous  Scrambles^  and  there  is 
certainly  no  book  which  has  sent  more  new 


246  THE   ALPS 

climbers  to  the  Alps.  Whymper  was  for- 
tunate, for  he  had  as  his  material  the  finest 
story  in  Alpine  history.  Certainly,  he  did  not 
waste  his  chances.  The  book  has  the  genuine 
ring  of  Alpine  romance.  Its  pages  are  full  of 
those  contrasts  that  are  the  stuff  of  our 
mountain  quest,  the  tragic  irony  that  a  Greek 
mind  would  have  appreciated.  The  closing 
scenes  in  the  gi'eat  drama  of  the  Matterhorn 
move  to  their  appointed  climax  with  the 
dignity  of  some  of  the  most  majestic  chapters 
in  the  Old  Testament.  Of  their  kind,  they 
are  unique  in  the  literature  of  exploration. 

Tyndall,  Whymper's  great  rival,  had  literary 
talent  as  well  as  scientific  genius,  but  his 
Alpine  books,  though  they  contain  fine  pas- 
sages, have  not  the  personality  that  made 
Scrambles  in  the  Alps  a  classic,  nor  the  genius 
for  descriptive  writing  that  we  admire  in  The 
Playground  of  Europe.  Of  A.  W.  Moore's 
work  and  of  Mummery's  great  classic  we  have 
already  spoken.  Mummery,  like  Whymper, 
could  translate  into  words  the  rollicking  ad- 
venture of  mountaineering,  and  though  he 
never  touches  Leslie  Stephen's  level,  some  of 
his  descriptions  of  mountain  scenery  have  a 
distinct  fascination. 

A  few  other  great  Alpine  books  have 
appeared  between  Peaks,  Pastures,  and 
Glaciers    and    the    recent    work    Peaks    and 


THE  ALPS   IN   LITERATURE     247 

Pleasant  Pastures.  Mr.  Douglas  Freshfield 
and  Sir  Martin  Conway  are  both  famous 
explorers  of  the  greater  ranges  beyond  Europe, 
and  their  talent  for  mountain  description 
must  have  inspired  many  a  climber  to  leave 
the  well-trodden  Alpine  routes  for  the  un- 
known snows  of  the  Himalayas.  Mr.  Fresh- 
field's  Caucasian  classic  opens  with  a  short 
poem  that  we  should  like  to  have  quoted,  and 
includes  one  of  the  great  stories  on  mountain 
literature — ^the  search  for  Donkin  and  Fox. 
Sir  Martin  Conway  brings  to  his  work  the 
eye  of  a  trained  Art  critic,  and  the  gift  for 
analysing  beauty,  not  only  in  pictures,  but 
in  Alpine  scenery.  He  is  an  artist  in  colour 
and  in  words. 

Contrary  to  accepted  views,  we  are  inclined 
to  believe  that  Alpine  literature  shows  signs 
of  a  Renaissance.  Those  who  hold  that  the 
subject-matter  is  exhausted,  seem  to  base 
their  belief  on  the  fact  that  every  virgin  peak 
in  the  Alps  has  been  climbed,  and  that  the 
literature  of  exploration  should,  therefore, 
die  a  natural  death.  This  belief  argues  a 
lack  of  proportion.  Because  a  certain  number 
of  climbers  have  marched  up  and  down  the 
peaks  of  a  certain  range,  it  does  not  follow 
that  those  mountains  no  longer  afford  emotions 
capable  of  literary  expression.  The  very 
reverse  is  the  case.     It  is  perilously  easy  to 


248  THE   ALPS 

attach  supreme  importance  to  the  sporting 
side  of  our  craft.  Mountain  literature  is  too 
often  tedious,  because  it  concentrates  on 
objective  facts.  When  all  the  great  mountains 
were  unclimbed,  those  who  wrote  of  them  could 
not  burden  their  pages  with  tiresome  details 
of  routes  and  times.  When  every  mountain 
has  been  climbed  by  every  conceivable  route, 
the  material  at  the  disposal  of  the  objective 
writer  is  fortunately  exhausted.  There  are 
few  great  Alpine  routes  that  remain  un- 
explored. There  are  a  thousand  byways  in 
the  psychology  of  mountaineering  that  have 
never  been  touched,  and  an  excellent  book 
might  have  been  written  on  this  subject  alone. 
Every  mountaineer  brings  to  the  mountains 
the  tribute  of  a  new  worshipper  with  his  own 
different  emotions.  "  Obtain  an  account  of 
the  same  expedition  from  three  points  on  the 
same  rope,  and  you  will  see  how  different. 
Therefore,  there  is  room  in  our  generation  for 
a  new  Peaks,  Passes,  and  Glaciers  by  the  best 
pens  in  the  Club  telling  freely,  and  without 
false  shame,  the  simple  story  of  a  day  among 
the  mountains." 

The  pioneers  had  every  advantage,  a  new 
subject  for  literary  expression,  a  new  field  of 
almost  untouched  exploration,  phrases  that 
had  yet  to  become  trite,  emotions  which 
never  become  trite  though  their  expression 


THE  ALPS  IN  LITERATURE     249 

is  apt  to  fall  into  a  rut.  And  yet  it  seems 
doubtful  whether  they  wrote  more  freely  and 
more  truly  than  some  of  those  who  are  writing 
to-day.  In  some  directions,  mountain  de- 
scriptions have  advanced  as  well  as  mountain 
craft.  We  have  no  Leslie  Stephen  and  no 
Whymper,  but  the  best  pens  at  work  in  The 
Alpine  Journal  have  created  a  nobler  literature 
than  that  which  we  find  in  the  early  numbers. 
"  The  Alpine  Journal^'''  remarked  a  worthy 
president,  is  "  the  champagne  of  Alpine 
literature."  Like  the  best  champagne,  it  is 
often  very  dry.  The  early  numbers  contained 
little  of  literary  value  beyond  Gosset's,  great 
account  of  the  avalanche  which  killed  Bennen, 
and  some  articles  by  Stephen  and  Whymper. 
Neither  Stephen  nor  Whymper  wrote  their 
best  for  the  club  journal.  The  Comhill 
contains  Stephen's  best  work,  and  Whymper 
gave  the  pick  of  his  writing  to  the  Press. 
One  may  safely  say  that  the  first  forty  years 
of  the  club  journal  produced  nothing  better 
than  recent  contributions  such  as  "  The  Alps  " 
by  A.  D.  Godley,  "  Two  Ridges  of  the  Grand 
Jorasses  "  by  G.  W.  Young,  "  The  Middle  Age 
of  the  Mountaineer "  by  Claud  Schuster, 
"  Another  Way  of  Alpine  Love  "  by  F.  W. 
Bourdillon,  "  The  Ligurian  Alps  "  by  R.  L.  A. 
Irving,  and  "  Alpine  Humour "  by  C.  D. 
Robertson.     Nor  has  good  work  been  con- 


250  THE   ALPS 

fined  to  The  Alpine  Journal.  The  patient 
seeker  may  find  hidden  treasures  in  the  pages 
of  some  score  of  journals  devoted  to  some 
aspect  of  the  mountains.  The  new  century 
has  opened  well,  for  it  has  given  us  Prof. 
Collie's  Exploration  in  the  Himalaya  and  other 
Mountain  Ranges,  a  book  of  unusual  charm. 
It  has  given  us  Mr.  Young's  mountain  poems, 
for  which  we  would  gladly  jettison  a  whole 
library  of  Alpine  literature.  It  has  given  us 
Peaks  and  Pleasant  Pastures,  and  a  fine 
translation  of  Guido  Rey's  classic  work  on  the 
Matterhom.  With  these  books  in  mind  we 
can  safely  assert  that  the  writer  quoted  at  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter  was  unduly  pessi- 
mistic, and  that  England  has  contributed  her 
fair  share  to  the  subjective  literature  of  the 
Alps. 

Let  us  hope  that  this  renaissance  of  wonder 
will  suffer  no  eclipse;  let  us  hope  that  the 
Alps  may  still  offer  to  generations  yet  unborn 
avenues  of  discovery  beside  those  marked 
"  No  Information "  in  the  pages  of  The 
Climhefs  Guides.  The  saga  of  the  Alps  will 
not  die  from  lack  of  material  so  long  as  men 
find  in  the  hills  an  inspiration  other  than  the 
challenge  of  imclimbed  ridges  and  byways  of 
mountain  joy  uncharted  in  the  ordnance 
survey. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Thb  Alpine  Club  collects  every  book  dealing  idth  the 
mountains  and  also  most  of  the  articles  that  appear  in  the 
Press  and  Magazines.  The  Catalogue  of  the  Alpine  Club 
Library  should,  therefore,  be  the  most  complete  bibUography 
ii'  existence.  The  additions  to  the  Club  Library  are  published 
from  time  to  time  in  Tlie  Alpine  Journal. 

The  most  useful  bibliographies  of  Alpine  book  that  are 
accessible  to  the  general  reader  are  contained  in  Ueber  Eia 
und  Schnee,  by  GottUob  Studer  (1869-1871),  and  Swiaa  Travel 
and  Swiss  Guide  Books,  by  the  Rev.  W.  A.  B.  CooUdge  (1889). 

Perhaps  the  most  thorough  book  on  every  phase  of  the 
Alps,  sporting,  social,  political  and  historical  is  The  Alps  in 
Nature  and  History,  by  the  Rev.  W.  A.  B.  CooUdge  (1908). 

Fob  the  Geology  of  the  Alps  and  the  theory  of  Glacieo 
Motion  there  are  no  better  books  than  The  Glaciers  of  the 
Alps,  by  John  TyndaU  (1860;  reprinted  in  the  Everyman 
Library),  and  The  Building  of  the  Alps,  by  T.  G.  Bonney 
(1912). 

For  the  practical  side  of  mountaineering,  Mountaineering, 
by  C.  T.  Dent  (Badminton  Library),  is  good  but  somewhat 
out  of  date. 

The  best  modern  book  on  the  theory  and  practice  of  moun- 
taineering is  Modem  Mountain  Cra',t,  edited  by  G.  W.  Young 
(1914).  This  book  is  in  the  Press.  It  contains  chapters  on 
the  theory  of  mountain  craft  in  summer  and  winter,  and  in 
addition  a  very  able  summary  of  the  characteristic  of  moun- 
taineering in  the  great  ranges  beyond  Europe  as  described 
by  the  various  experts  for  the  particular  districts. 

Winter  mountaineering  and  ski-ing  are  dealt  with  in  Thi 
251 


252  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Ski-Runner,  by  E,  C.  Richardson  (1909) ;  Ski-ing  for  Beginners 
and  Mountaineers,  by  W.  R.  Rickmers  (1910);  How  to  Ski, 
by  Vivian  Caulfield  (1910);   Ski-ing,  by  Arnold  Lunn  (1912). 

For  the  general  literature  of  mountaineering  the  reader 
has  a  wide  choice.  We  cannot  attempt  a  comprehensive 
bibliography,  but  the  following  books  are  the  most  interesting 
of  the  many  hundred  volumes  on  the  subject. 

The  early  history  of  mountaineering  is  dealt  with  in  Mr. 
CooUdge's  books  referred  to  above.  There  is  a  good  historical 
sketch  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  Badminton  volume.  The 
most  readable  book  on  the  early  pioneers  is  The  Early  Moun- 
taineers, by  Francis  Gribble  (1899).  The  Story  of  Alpine 
Climbing,  by  Francis  Gribble  (1904),  is  smaller  than  The 
Early  Mountaineers ;  it  can  be  obtained  for  a  shilling. 

We  shall,  where  possible,  confine  our  list  to  books  written 
in  English. .  This  is  not  possible  for  the  earlier  works,  aa 
English  books  do  not  cover  the  ground. 

Descriptio  Montis  Fracti  jtixta  Lucemam.    By  Conrad  Gesner. 

1555. 
De  Alpibus  Commentarius.     By  Josias  Simler.     1574. 
Coryate's     Crudities.     By     T.    Coryate.     1611.     This     book 

contains  the  passage  quoted  on  p.  15.     It  has  recently 

been  reprinted. 
Diary  (Simplon,  etc.).     By  John  Evelyn.     1646.     (Reprinted 

in  the  Everyman  Library.) 
Remarks  on  Several   Parts  of   Svntzerland.     By  J.  Addison. 

1705. 
Itinera  per  HelvetioB  Alpinas  Regiones  Facta.     By  Johann 

Jacob  Scheuchzer.     1723. 
Die  Alpen.     By  A.  von  Haller.     1732. 
An  Account  of  the  Glaciers  or  Ice  Alps  in  Savoy.     By  William 

Windham  and  Peter  ilartel.     1744. 
Travels  in  the  Alpt  of  Savoy.     By  J.  D.  Forbes.     1843. 
Mont  Blanc.     By  Albert  Smith.     1852. 
The  Tour  of  Mont  Blanc.     By  J.  D.  Forbes.     1855. 
Wanderivqs  among  the  High  Alps.     By  Alfred  Wills.     1856. 
Summer  Months  among  the  Alps.     By  T.  W.  Hinchcliff.     1867. 

(Very  scarce.) 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  258 

The  Italian  VaUeys  of  the  Pennine  Alps.    By  S.  W.  King. 

1858. 
Peaks,  Passes,  and  Olaciers.    (First  Series.)     1859.     (Soaroe 

and  expensive.) 
Peaks,  Passes,  and  Olaciers.     (Second  Series.)    (Two  volumes.) 

(Scarce.)     1862. 
The  Eagles'  Nest.    By  A.  Wills.     1860.     (Scarce.) 
The  Glaciers  of  the  Alps.     By  John  Tyndall.     1860. 
Across  Country  from  Thonon  to  Trent.    By  D.  W.  Ereshfield. 

1865.  ,       ' 

The  Alps  in  186 4.     By  A,  W.  Moore.     (Privately  reprinted.) 

(Very  scarce,  reprinted  1902.) 
Tht    High   Alps   witlwiU   Guides.      By   A.    B.    Girdlestone. 

(Scarce.)     1870. 
Scrambles  among  the  Alps.     By  Edward  Whymper.     1871. 

This  famous  book  went  into  several  editions.     It  has 

been  reprinted  in  Nelson's  Shilling  Library.     The  original 

editions  with  their  deUghtful  wood -cuts  cannot  be  bought 

for  less  than  a  pound,  but  are  well  worth  the  money. 
The    Playground    of    Europe.     By    Leslie    Stephen.     1871. 

This  classic  can  be  bought  for  35.  6d.  in  the  Silver  Library. 

The  original  edition  is  scarce  and  does  not  contain  the 

best  work. 
Hours  of  Exercise  in  the  Alps.     By  J.  Tyndall.     1871. 
Italian  Alps.     By  D.  W.  Freshfield.     1876. 
The  High  Alps  in   WitUer.    By  Mrs.  Fred  Burnaby  (Mrs. 

Le  Blond.)     1883. 
Above  the  Snow  Line.     By  C.  T.  Dent.     1885. 
The  Pioneers  of  the  Alps.     By  C.  D.  Cunningham  and  W.  de 

W.  Abney.  (An  account  of  the  great  guides.)  1888. 
ify  Climbs  in  the  Alps  and  Caucasus.     By  A.  F.  Mummery. 

1895.     (Reprinted  in  Nelson's  Shilling  Library.) 
The  Alps  from  End  to  End.     By  Sir  Martin  Conway.     1895. 

This  has  been  reprinted  in  Nelson's  ShilUng  Library. 
The  Annals  of  Mont  Blanc.  By  C.  E.  Mathews.  1898. 
Climbing  in  the  Himalaya  and  other  Mountain  Ranges.     By 

Norman  J.  CoUie,  1902.    Includes  some  excellent  chapters 

on  the  Alps. 


254  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Wht  Alps.  Described  by  Sir  Martin  C!onway.  Illustrated  by 
A.  O.  M'Cormick.  1904.  A  cheap  edition  without 
Mr.  M'Cormick's  illustrations  has  been  issued  in  1910. 

My  Alpine  Jvbilee.     By  Frederic  Harrison.     1908. 

Recollections  of  an  Oil  Mountaineer.   By  Walter  Larden.    1910' 

Peaks  and  Pleasant  Pastures.     By  Claud  Schuster.     1911. 

The  poetry  of  Mountaineering  as  distinct  from  the  poetry 
of  mountains  is  found  in — 
Wind  and  HiU.     By  G.  W.  Young.     1909. 

This  book  is  out  of  print.     The  mountain  poems  have  been 

reprinted  in — 

The  Englishman  in  the  Alps.  An  Anthology  edited  by  Arnold 
Lunn.  1913.  This  Anthology  includes  long  extracts 
from  one  to  five  thousand  words  chosen  from  the  best 

'       of  Alpine  prose  and  poetry. 

Other  Alpine  Anthologies  are — 
The  Voice  of  the  Mountains.    By  E.  Baker  and  F.  E.  Ross. 

1906. 
In  Praise  of  Switzerland.    By  Harold  Spender.     1912. 

The  reader  will  find  good  photographs  very  useful.  The 
earUest  Alpine  photographer  to  achieve  distinct  success  was 
Mr.  Donkin,  whose  excellent  photographs  can  be  bought 
cheaply.  Signor  Sellas — the  supreme  artist  in  mountain 
photography — also  sella  his  work.  Messrs.  Abraham  of 
Keswick  have  photographed  with  thoroughness  the  Alps 
and  tae  rock  climbs  of  Cumberland  and  Wales.  Their  best 
work  is  reproduced  in  The  Complete  Mountaineer.    (1908.) 


INDEX 

ABBUm,  Arnold,  96  Ball,  John,  118-19,  130 

Aggasiz,  104-10  Balmat,  Jacques,  60-81 

Aiguille,  Mont,  29-30  Balmat  (in  Wills's  guide),  125-9 

Aimer,  Christian,  125, 129  Beaupr6,  30 

Alpine  Club,  the,  130  Beck,  Jean  Joseph,  86-89 

Alpine  Journal,  The,  73,  249  Belloc,  Hilaire,  226 

Alps  in  1864,  The,  135  Bennen,  154,  157-8 

Annals  of  Mont  Blanc,  The,  60, 134  Berkeley,  15 

Arkwright,  Captain,  117  Blackwell,  112 


INDEX 


255 


Blackwood,  Algernon.'229-30 
Blanc,  Mont,  47,  60-81,   121-4. 

187 
Bloud,  Mrs.  Le,  200 
Bonney,  Prof.,  133 
Bourrit,  54-9,  60,  74-80,  220 
Brenible,  15 
Buet,  the,  49-50 
Byron,  215-17 

Canigou,  Pic,  30 

Carbonierre,  Baraond  de,  214-15 

Carrel,  J.  A.,  152-83 

Carrel,  J.  J.,  152-3,  154 

Cawood,  189 

Charles   '^11,  29 

Charpentler,  103 

Clement,  53 

Coleridge,  217 

Colgrove,  187 

Collie,  Prof.,  250 

Conway,  Sir  Martin,  247 

Coolidge,  Mr.,  44, 129 

Cory  at '3  Crudities,  15 

Croz,  163-80 

Cu3t,  189 

Davies,  136 

Dent  du  Midi,  53 

Desor,  105 

Doliell,  Sydney,  231 

I)ollfu8-Au83et,  106 

Douglas,  Lord  Francis,  163-80 

Dragons  In  tlie  Alps,  40-42 

Dubi,  Dr.,  72-3 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  62-72 

DUrer,  18-19 

Early  Mountaineers,  The,  27,  214 

Fairbanks,  Rev.  Arthur,  188 
Farrar,  Captain,  97-101 
Finsteraarliom,  96-101 
Forl)e9,  J.  D.,  116-18 
Freshfleld,  Mr.  Douglas,  12,  29. 
72,  247 

Gedley,  A.  D.,  249 
Gersdorf,  Baron  von,  73-9 
Gesner,  Conrad,  33-9 
Giordani,  Pietro,  89 
Giordano,  159,  161-3,  168 
Girdlestone,  tlie  Rev.  A.  B.,  187-8 
Glockner,  Tlie  Gross,  92-4 
Gorret,  Aiin6.  152-3,  181. 
Gribble,  Mr.  Francis,  26,  44,  46 
Grove,  Francis,  187 
Guideli'ss  clIinbinK,  138-43  185-9 
Gurk,  Bialiop  of,  93-4 


Haddington,  Lord  45 

Hadow,  163-80 

Haller,  213 

Hamel,  Dr.,  117 

Hannibal,  22-3 

Hardy,  135-6 

Hawkins,  Vaughan,  163-4 

Ui^h  Alps  vnUunU  Guides,  The, 

187-8 
Hincliclifife,  1.30,  135 
Holland,  Mrs.,  231 
Holland,  Philemon,  23 
Hotel  des  Neucliatelois,  104 
Hours  of  Exercise  in  the  Alps,  131, 

153-4 
Hudson,  163-80,  187 
Hugi,  97-100 
Hugisattel,  100 

Irving,  Mr.  R.  L.  A.,  249 

James,  William,  107-9 

John  of  Austria,  Archduke,  94-5 

Jungfrau,  96 

Kaiserbebirge,  199 
Kennedy,  E.  8.,  187 
Kipling,  228-9,  232 

Lauener,  Ulrich,  125-9 
Lauteraarhorn,  109 
Luc,  De,  48-60 

Martel,  Peter,  45-6 
Marti,  16.  36-7 
Masefield,  John,  232 
Mathews,  C.  E..  46-8,  134-5 
Matliews,  WiUiam,  130 
Matterhorn,  the,  147-84,  189 
Meredith,  Creorge,  224 
Meyers,  the,  85-101 
Mombosa.  28 
Moore,  Dr.  John,  46 
Moore,  W.  A.,  135, 199 
Morris,  William,  281 
Morse,  Mr.  189,  191 
Mountaineering  in  Great  Britain, 

193-4, 197-9 
Mountaineering,  modern,  185-207 
Mountaineering  in  winter,   199- 

207 
Mountaineering  without  guides. 

138-43,  185-9 
Mountains  in  Art,  17-20 
Mount.iins  in  Literature,  208-50 
Mountains,  Mediaeval  attitude  :o, 

1-21 
MUlIer,  30-31 
MUller,  John,  33 


256 


INDEX 


Mummery,  183-4, 191,  246 

Murith,  Prior,  50,  52,  53 

My    Climbs'  in    the    Alps    and 

Caucasus,  191 
Myers,  F.  W.  H.,  231 

Ortle'r,  the,  94-5 

Paccard,  Dr.,  67-80 

Parker,  Messrs.,  153 

Parrot,  Dr.,  90 

Paulcke,  208 

Peaks,  Passes,  and  Glaciers,  235, 

239-40 
Peaks  and  Pleasant  Pastures,  250 
Penhall,  184 
Perrandier,  103 
Peter  III,  30 
Petrarch,  26-7 
Pic  du  Midi,  30 
Pichler,  Joseph,  94 
Pilate,  Pontius,  31-2 
Pilatus,  31-4 
Placidus  k  Spescha,  82-4 
Playground  of  Europe,  The   131, 

132-3 
Pococke,  Dr.,  45 
Pope,  Hugh,  199 
Popocatajjetl,  30 
Puuta  Giordan!,  89 
Purtscheller,  189 

Rey,  Guide,  152-9 
Robertson,  Donald,  285-6,  249 
Rochefoucauld,  Due  de,  46 
Rosa,  Monte,  28-9,  85-91,  129 
Rotario  of  Asti,  24 
Rousseau,  9,  212-3,  214 
Ruskin,  221-4    ' 

Sails,  Ulysses  von  115 , 
Sauasure,  De,  46-8,  €10 
Scheuchzer,  39-43 
Schuster,  Sir  Claud,  241,  249,  250 
Scrambles  in  the  Alps,  133-4 
Sella,  Quintino,  159, 161-3, 168 
SheUey,  218-19 


Simler,  37-9 

Ski-ing,  200-7 

Smith,  Albert,  119-24 

Stephen,  Sir  Leslie,  131-3,  136-7, 

140-1,  243,  245 
Stockhorn,  30-1 
Stogdon,  Mr.  John,  188 
Studer,  Gottlieb,  109-10 
Swinburne,  231 
Symonds,  Addington,  224-6 

Tatlgwalders,  the.  163-80 

Tennyson,  Lord.  230-1 

Theodule,  12 

Titlis,  44 

Todi,  the,  83 

Tour  of  Mont  Blane.'yThe,  110 

Tuckett,  136-7 

Tyndall,  John,  131,  167-8 

Ulrich  of  Wflrtemburg,  32 

Velan,  the,  50-2 

Veneta,  103 

Ventoux,  Mont,  26 

Vinci.  Leonardo  da,  19-20,  27-8 

Vogt,  105 

Walker,  Mr.  Horace,  199 
Watt,  Joachim  von,  32 
Weston,  Mr.,  12 
Wetterhorn,    the,    109,    111-12, 

125-9 
Whymper,  Edward,  133,  147-84 
Wicks,  Mr.,  189 

Wills,  Mr.  Justice,  111-14, 126-9 
Wilson,  Mr.,  189 
Windham,  45 

Young,  Sir  George,  135 

Young,  G.  Winthrop,  230,  249, 

250 
Young,  Norman,  11 

Zumstein,  90-1 
Zumstein  Spitze,  91 
Zeigmondy,  189 


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accurate,  scholarly,  and  unusually  entertaining  history  from  the  ear- 
liest authentic  records  to  the  death  of  Marcus  Aurelius." — American 
Library  Association   Booklist. 

84.  The  Growth  of  Europe. 

By  Granville  Cole,  Professor  of  Geology,  Royal  College  of  Science, 
Ireland.  A  study  of  the  geology  and  physical  geography  in  connec- 
tion with  the  political  geography. 

13.  Medieval  Europe. 

By  H.  W.  C.  Davis,  Fellow  at  Balliol  College,  Oxford,  author  of 
Charlemagne,  etc. 

33.  The  History  of  England. 

By  A.  F.  Pollard,  Professor  of  English  History,  University  of 
London.  "Professor  Pollard  is  to  be  ranked  among  the  few  leading 
English  historians  of  the  times.  One  of  the  most  brilliant  little  vol- 
umes."— Springfield  Republican. 

3.  The  French  Revolution. 

By  Hilaire  Belloc.  "For  the  busy  man  it  would  be  difficult  to 
name  another  work  better  suited  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  an 
intelligent  idea  of  the  greatest  political  event  of  modern  times." — 
San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


4.  A  Short  History  of  War  and  Peace. 

By  G.  H.  Ferris,  author  of  Russia  in  Revolution,  etc.  The  Hon. 
James  Bryce  writes:  "I  have  read  it  with  much  interest  and  pleas- 
ure, admiring  the  skill  with  which  you  have  managed  to  compress  so 
many  facts  and  views  into  so  small  a  volume." 

20.  History  of  Our  Time  (1885-1911). 

By  G.  P.  GoocH.    A  "moving  picture"  of  the  world  since  1885. 

22.  The  Papacy  and  Modem  Times. 

By  Rev.  William  Barrv,  D.  D.,  author  of  The  Papal  Monarchy, 
etc.     The  story  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Temporal  Power. 

8.  Polar  Exploration. 

By  Dr.  W.  S.  Bruce,  Leader  of  the  "Scotia"  expedition.  Empha- 
sizes the  results  of  the  expeditions,  not  in  miles  traveled,  but  in 
valuable  information  brought  home.  "Of  enormous  interest." — 
Chatauqua  Press. 

18.  The  Opening-up  of  Africa. 

By  Sir  H.  H.  Johnston.  The  first  living  authority  on  the  subject 
tells  how  and  why  the  "native  races"  went  to  the  various  parts  of 
Africa  and  summarizes  its  exploration  and  colonization.  (With 
maps.) 

19.  The  Civilization  of  China. 

By  H.  A.  Giles,  Professor  of  Chinese,  Cambridge,  author  of  A  His- 
tory of  Chinese  Literature,  etc.  A  vivid  outline  of  history,  manners 
and  customs,  art,   literature,   and   religion. 

36.  Peoples  and  Problems  of  India. 

By  Sir  T.  W.  Holderness,  Secretary  of  the  Revenue,  Statistics,  and 
Commerce  Department  of  the  British  India  Office.  ."The  best  small 
treatise  dealing  with  the  range  of  subjects  fairly  indicated  by  the 
title."— 7/te  Dial. 

7.  Modern  Geography. 

By  Dr.  Marion  Newbigin.  Those  to  whom  "geography"  suggests 
"bounded  on  the  north  by,"  etc.,  will  gain  a  new  view  of  the  world 
from  this  book.  It  shows  the  relation  of  physical  features  to  living 
things  and  to  some  of  the  chief  institutions  of  civilization. 

51.  Master  Mariners. 

By  John  R.  Spears,  author  of  The  History  of  Our  Navy,  etc.  A 
history  of  sea  craft  and  sea  adventure  from  the  earliest  times,  with 
an  account  of  sea  customs  and  the  great  seamen. 

SOCIAL  SCIENCE 
77.  Co-Partnership  and  Profit  Sharing. 

By  Aneurin  Williams,  Chairman,  Executive  Committee,  Interna- 
tional Co-operative  Alliance,  etc.  Explains  the  various  types  of  co- 
partnership or  profit-sharing,  or  both,  and  gives  details  of  the  ar- 
rangements now  in  force  in  many  of  the  great  industries  both  here 
and  abroad. 

75.  Shelley,  Godwin  and  Their  Circle. 

By  H.  N.  Brailsford,  author  of  "Adventures  in  Prose,"  etc.  A  his- 
tory of  the  immediate  influence  of  the  French  Revolution  in  England 


79.  Unemployment. 

By  A.  C.  PiGou,  M.  A.,  Professor  of  Political  Economy  at  Cam- 
bridge. The  meaning,  measurement,  distribution,  and  effects  of  un- 
employment, its  relation  to  wages,  trade  fluctuations,  and  disputes, 
and  some  proposals  of  remedy  or  relief. 

80.  Common-Sense  in  Law. 

By  Prof.  Paul  Vinogradoff,  D.  C.  L.,  LL.  D.  Social  and  Legal 
Rules — Legal  Rights  and  Duties — Facts  and  Acts  in  Law — Legislation 
— Custom — Judicial  Precedents — Equity — The  Law  of  Nature. 

49.  Elements  of  Political  Economy. 

By  S.  J.  Chapman,  Professor  of  Political  Economy  and  Dean  of 
Faculty  of  Commerce  and  Administration.  University  of  Manchester. 
A  clear  statement  of  the  theory  of  the  subject  for  non-e.xpert  readers. 

11.  The  Science  of  Wealth. 

By  J.  A.  HoBSON,  author  of  Problems  of  Poverty.  A  study  of  the 
structure  and  working  of  the  modern  business  world. 

1.  Parliament.     Its   History,    Constitution,    and 
Practice. 

By  Sir  Courtenay  P.  Ilbert,  Clerk  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
"Can  be  praised  without  reserve.    Admirably  clear." — New  York  Sun. 

16.  Liberalism. 

By  Prof.  L.  T.  Hobhouse,  author  of  Democracy  and  Reaction.  A 
masterly  philosophical  and  historical  review  of  the  subject. 

5.  The  Stock  Exchange. 

By  F.  W.  Hirst,  Editor  of  the  London  Economist.  Reveals  to  the 
non-financial  mind  the  facts  about  investment,  speculation,  and  the 
other  terms  which  the  title  suggests. 

10.  The  Socialist  Movement. 

By  J.  Ramsav  Macdonald,  Chairman  of  the  British  Labor  Party. 
"The  latest  authoritative  exposition  of  Socialism." — San  Francisco 
Argonaut. 

28.  The  Evolution  of  Industry. 

By  D.  H.  MacGregor,  Professor  of  Political  Economy,  University 
of  Leeds.  An  outline  of  the  recent  changes  that  have  given  us  the 
present  conditions  of  the  working  classes  and  the  principles  involved. 

29.  Elements  of  English  Law. 

By  W.  M.  Geldart,  Vinerian  Professor  of  English  Law,  Oxford.  A 
simple  statement  of  the  basic  principles  of  the  English  legal  system 
on  which  that  of  the  United  States  is  based. 

32.  The  School:  An  Introduction  to  the  Study  of 
Education. 

By  J.  J.  FiNDLAY,  Professor  of  Education,  Manchester.  Presents 
the  history,  the  psychological  basis,  and  the  theory  of  the  school  with 
a  rare  power  of  summary  and  suggestion. 

6.  Irish  Nationality. 

By  Mrs.  J.  R.  Green.  A  brilliant  account  of  the  genius  and  mission 
of  the  Irish  people.  "An  entrancing  work,  and  I  would  advise  every 
one  with  a  drop  of  Irish  blood  in  his  veins  or  a  vein  of  Irish  sym- 
pathy in  his  heart  to  read  it." — New  York  Times'  Review. 


NATURAL  SCIENCE 
68.  Disease  and  Its  Causes. 

By  W.  T.  Councilman,  M.  D.,  LL.  D.,  Professor  of  Pathology,  Har- 
vard University. 

85.  Sex. 

By  J.  Arthur  Thomson  and  Patrick  Geddes,  joint  authors  of  The 
Evolution  of  Sex. 

71.  Plant  Life. 

By  J.  B.  Farmer,  D.  Sc,  F.  R.  S.,  Professor  of  Botany  in  the  Impe- 
rial College  of  Science.  This  very  fully  illustrated  volume  contains 
an  account  of  the  salient  features  of  plant  form  from  the  point  of 
view  of   function. 

63.  The  Origin  and  Nature  of  Life. 

By  Benjamin  M.  Moore,  Professor  of  Bio-Chemistry,  Liverpool. 
Perhaps  the  chapters  on  "The  Origin  of  Life"  and  "How  Life  Came 
to  Earth"  will  attract  most  attention,  as  throwing  the  newest  light 
upon  matters  of  very  ancient  controversy. 

53.  Electricity. 

By  GiSBERT  Kapp,  Professor  of  Electrical  Engineering,  University  of 
Birmingham. 

54.  The  Making  of  the  Earth. 

By  J.  W.  Gregory,  Professor  of  Geology,  Glasgow  University.  38 
maps  and  figures.  Describes  the  origin  of  the  earth,  the  formation 
and  changes  of  its  surface  and  structure,  its  geological  history,  the 
first  appearance  of  life,  and  its  influence  upon  the  globe. 

56.  Man:  A  History  of  the  Human  Body. 

By  A.  Keith,  M.  D.,  Hunterian  Professor,  Royal  College  of  Sur- 
geons.    Shows  how  the  human  body  developed. 

74.  Nerves. 

By  David  Fraser  Harris,  M.  D.,  Professor  of  Physiology,  Dalhousie 
University,  Halifax.  Explains  in  non-technical  language  the  place 
and  powers  of  the  nervous  system,  more  particularly  of  those  regions 
of  the  system  whose  activities  are  not  associated  with  the  rousing  of 
consciousness. 

21.  An  Introduction  to  Science. 

By  Prof.  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  Science  Editor  of  the  Home  Univer- 
sity Library.  For  those  unacquainted  with  the  scientific  volumes  in 
the  series,  this  would  prove  an  excellent  introduction. 

14.  Evolution. 

By  Prof.  J.  Arthur  Thomson  and  Prof.  Patrick  Geodes.  Explains 
to  the  layman  what  the  title  means  to  the  scientific  world. 

23.  Astronomy. 

By  A.  R.  HiNKS,  Chief  Assistant  at  the  Cambridge  Observatory. 
"Decidedly  original  in  substance,  and  the  most  readable  and  informa- 
tive little  book  on  modern  astronomy  we  have  seen  for  a  long  time." 

— Nature. 

24.  Psychical  Research. 

By  Prof.  W.  F.  Barrett,  formerly  President  of  the  Society  for 
Psychical  Research.     A  strictly  scientific  examination. 


9.  The  Evolution  of  Plants. 

By  Dr.  D.  H.  Scott,  President  of  the  Linnean  Society  of  London. 
The  story  of  the  development  of  flowering  plants,  from  the  earliest 
zoological   times,  unlocked  from  technical  language. 

43.  Matter  and  Energy. 

By  F.  SoDDY,  Lecturer  in  Physical  Chemistry  and  Radioactivity, 
University  of  Glasgow.  "Brilliant.  Can  hardly  be  surpassed.  Sure 
to  attract  attention." — New  York  Sun. 

41.  Psychology,  The  Study  of  Behaviour. 

By  William  McDougall,  of  Oxford.  A  well  digested  summary  of 
the  essentials  of  the  science  put  in  excellent  literary  form  by  a  lead- 
ing authority. 

42.  The  Principles  of  Physiology. 

By  Prof.  J.  G.  McKendrick.  A  compact  statement  by  the  Emeritus 
•  Professor  at  Glasgow,  for  uninstructed  readers. 

37.  Anthropology. 

By  R.  R.  Marett,  Reader  in  Social  Anthropology,  Oxford.  Seeks  to 
plot  out  and  sum  up  the  general  series  of  changes,  bodily  and  mental, 
undergone  by  man  in  the  course  of  history.  "Excellent.  So  enthusi- 
astic, so  clear  and  witty,  and  so  well  adapted  to  the  general  reader." 
— American  Library  Association  Booklist. 

17.  Crime  and  Insanity. 

By  Dr.  C.  A.  Mercier,  author  of  Text-Book  of  Insanity,  etc. 

12.  The  Animal  World. 

By  Prof.  F.  W.  Gamble. 

15.  Introduction  to  Mathematics. 

By  A.  N.  Whitehead,  author  of  Universal  Algebra. 

PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION 
69.  A  History  of  Freedom  of  Thought. 

By  John  B.  Bury,  M.  A.,  LL.  D.,  Regius  Professor  of  Modern  His- 
tory in  Cambridge  University.  Summarizes  the  history  of  the  long 
struggle  between  authority  and  reason  and  of  the  emergence  of  the 
principle  that  coercion  of  opinion  is  a  mistake. 

55.  Missions:  Their  Rise  and  Development. 

By  Mrs.  Mandell  Creighton,  author  of  History  of  England.  The 
author  seeks  to  prove  that  missions  have  done  more  to  civilize  the 
world  than  any  other  human  agency. 

52.  Ethics. 

By  G.  E.  Moore,  Lecturer  in  Moral  Science,  Cambridge.  Discusses 
what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  and  the  whys  and  wherefores. 

65.  The  Literature  of  the  Old  Testament. 

By  George  F.  Moore,  Professor  of  the  History  of  Religion,  Harvard 
University.  "A  popular  work  of  the  highest  order.  Will  be  profit- 
able to  anybody  who  cares  enough  about  Bible  study  to  read  a  serious 
book  on  the  subject." — American  Journal  of  Theology. 

50.  The  Making  of  the  New  Testament. 

By  B.  W.  Bacon,  Professor  of  New  Testament  Criticism,  Yale.  An 
authoritative  summary  of  the  results  of  modern  critical  research 
with  regard  to  the  origins  of  the  New  Testament. 


35.  The  Problems  of  Philosophy. 

By  Bertrand  Russell,  Lecturer  and  Late  Fellow,  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge. 

44.  Buddhism. 

By  Mrs.  Rhys  Davids,  Lecturer  on  Indian  Philosophy,  Manchester. 
A  review  of  that  religion  and  body  of  culture  which  is  to  a  large 
part  of  the  human  race,  chiefly  situated  in  Southern  Asia,  what 
Christianity  is  to  us  of  the  West. 

46.  English  Sects:  A  History  of  Nonconformity. 

By  W.  B.  Selbie,  Principal  of  Manchester  College,  Oxford. 

60.  Comparative  Religion. 

By  Prof.  J.  Estlin  Carpenter.  "One  of  the  few  authorities  on  this 
subject  compares  all  the  religions  to  see  what  they  have  to  offer  on 
the  great  themes  of  religion." — Christian  Work  and  Evangelist, 

LITERATURE  AND  ART 
73.  Euripides  and  His  Age. 

By  Gilbert  Murray,  Regius  Professor  of  Greek,  Oxford.  Brings 
before  the  reader  an  undisputedly  great  poet  and  thinker,  an  amaz- 
ingly successful  playwright,  and  a  figure  of  high  significance  in  the 
history  of  humanity. 

81.  Chaucer  and  His  Times. 

By  Grace  E.  Hadow,  Lecturer  Lady  Margaret  Hall,  Oxford;  Late 
Reader,  Bryn  Mawr. 

70.  Ancient  Art  and  Ritual. 

By  Jane  E.  Harrison,  LL.  D.,  D.  Litt.  "One  of  the  100  most  impor- 
tant books  of   1913." — Neiv   York  Times  Review. 

61.  The  Victorian  Age  in  Literature. 

By  G.  K.  Chesterton.  The  most  powerfully  sustained  and  brilliant 
piece  of  writing  Mr.  Chesterton  has  yet  published. 

59.  Dr.  Johnson  and  His  Circle. 

By  John  Bailey.  Johnson's  life,  character,  works,  and  friendships 
are  surveyed;  and  there  is  a  notable  vindication  of  the  "Genius  of 
Boswell." 

58.  The  Newspaper. 

By  G.  Binney  Dibblee.  The  first  full  account,  from  the  inside,  of 
newspaper  organization  as  its  exists  to-day. 

62.  Painters  and  Painting. 

By  Sir  Frederick  Wedmore.     With  16  half-tone  illustrations. 

64.  The  Literature  of  Germany. 

By  J.  G.  Robertson. 

48.  Great  Writers  of  America. 

By  W.  P.  Trent  and  John  Erskine,  of  Columbia  University.  Gives 
the  essential  facts  as  to  the  lives  and  works  of  Franklin,  Washington 
Irving,  Bryant,  Cooper,  Hawthorne,  Poe,  Emerson,  and  the  other 
Transcendentalists,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  and  the  other  New  Eng- 
land poets.  Motley  and  the  other  historians.  Webster  and  Abraham 
Lincoln,  Mrs.  Stowe,  Walt  Whitman,  Bret  Harte,  and  Mark  Twain. 


40.  The  English  Language. 


By  L.  P.  Smith.  A  concise  history  of  the  origin  and  development 
of  the  English  language.  "Has  certainly  managed  to  include  a  vast 
amount  of  information,  and,  while  his  writing  is  clear  and  lucid,  he 
is  always  in  touch  with  life." — The  Athenaeum. 


45.  Medieval  English  Literature. 

By  W.  P.  Ker,  Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  College, 
London.  "One  of  the  soundest  scholars.  His  style  is  effective,  sim- 
ple, yet  never  dry." — The  Athenaetitn. 

27.  Modern  English  Literature. 

By  G.  H.  Mair.  From  Wyatt  and  Surrey  to  Synge  and  Yeats.  "A 
most  suggestive  book,  one  of  the  best  of  this  great  series." — Chicago 
Evening  Post. 

2.  Shakespeare. 

By  JoitN  Masefield.  "One  of  the  very  few  indispensable  adjuncts 
to  a  Shakespearean  Library." — Boston  Transcript. 

31.  Landmarks  in  French  Literature. 

By  G.  L.  Strachev,  Scholar  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  "For  a 
survey  of  the  oustanding  figures  of  French  literature  with  an  acute 
analysis  of  the  contribution  which  each  made  to  his  time  and  to  the 
general  mass  there  has  been  no  book  as  yet  published  so  judicially 
interesting." — The  Chautanqtian. 

38.  Architecture. 

By  Prof.  W.  R.  Lethaby.  An  introduction  to  the  history  and 
theory  of  the  art  of  building.  "Professor  Lethaby's  scholarship  and 
extraordinary  knowledge  of  the  most  recent  discoveries  of  archaeo- 
logical research  provide  the  reader  with  a  new  outlook  and  with  new 
facts." — The  Athenaeum. 

66.  Writing  English  Prose. 

By  William  T.  Brewster,  Professor  of  English,  Columbia  L^niver- 
sity.  "Should  be  put  into  the  hands  of  every  man  who  is  beginning 
to  write  and  of  every  teacher  of  English  that  has  brains  enough  to 
understand  sense." — New  York  Sun. 

83.  William  Morris:  His  Work  and  Influence. 

By  A.  Glutton  Brock,  author  of  Shelley:  The  Man  and  the  Poet. 
William  Morris  believed  that  the  artist  should  toil  for  love  of  his 
work  rather  than  the  gain  of  his  employer,  and  so  he  turned  from 
making  works  of  art  to  remaking  society. 

OTHER  VOLUMES  IN  PREPARATION. 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
34  West  33d  Street  New  York 


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